


Against The Grain

by lemondilemma



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Minor Character Death, implied major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemondilemma/pseuds/lemondilemma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a city rife with gangs, Marcus is beginning to question the validity of his life with the Romans. He dreams of starting again somewhere else, away from the sprawling concrete jungle and the fighting. He also realises that acting on his growing fascination with a member of rival gang the Brigantes will be dangerous, but the attraction he feels for Esca MacCunoval is too strong to resist.<br/>Then the Seals and their ruthless leader Liathan attempt to muscle in on the Romans’ territory, the violence escalates and Marcus’ hopes for the future, and his burgeoning relationship with Esca, come under increasing threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against The Grain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Eagle Bigbang 2013. The awesome, genius artwork to accompany the story is by the amazing Ladytiferet.  
> Beta'd by the lovely Ladytiferet too, and it's definitely a better story for her input. Yay!!!!!!

 

 

 

Marcus caught a glimpse of a blade and instinctively ducked out of the way, grabbing the arm of the Brigantes who’d tried to stab him and wrenching it backwards. He heard the loud _crack_ of a bone breaking and the knife fell to the ground, quickly followed by its owner. There were already a good number of casualties littering the ground from this latest skirmish, mostly Brigantes, slowly trying to shake off the effects of their injuries while those still up and fighting were involved in a couple of individual tussles and one larger free-for-all. Marcus kicked the legs out from under another Brigantes who was aiming to beat his brains out with an iron bar, stunned him with an accurately aimed kick to the head and took a step back, one eye looking for any further trouble coming his way, the other searching for what he always looked for when the Brigantes were around.

 

Esca MacCunoval.                

 

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for Marcus to spot him fighting Drusillus. Drusillus had managed to get hold of him in a kind of bear hug but MacCunoval was having none of it, twisting and kicking until Drusillus couldn’t hold on to him any longer and let go. MacCunoval was really something to behold and there was something about seeing him get the better of a guy almost twice his size that made Marcus smile on the inside and want to swoon like a girl, despite the two of them being on opposite sides of this particular argument. Of course, he reminded himself, the harsh reality was that he really needed to get a grip or one day he was going to be so intent on watching MacCunoval that someone would knife him and he wouldn’t even see it coming.

 

This fight hadn’t been planned, just a chance meeting between some of the lads from the Romans and their long-time enemies the Brigantes but as soon as a couple of punches and several graphically descriptive insults had been thrown, gang members from both sides had swarmed like cockroaches out into the drab concrete square between the tower blocks and all hell had broken loose. It was nothing unusual. Any of the locals that happened to come by while a fight was underway had long since learned to turn back and find another route home, or else they ignored the rumpus and walked on, heads down. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before and nobody wanted to get involved. The Romans and the Brigantes had been fighting for so long now that it had become a way of life. 

 

Decades ago the Brigantes had run this side of the city, south of the river but then the Romans had decided to move in and it had been all-out war for a while before the Romans had got the upper hand and taken over. What was left of the Brigantes had hung on however, pushed further up into a smaller area towards the river, an area so run-down and deprived that nobody else was bothered about it. They were smaller in number than the Romans but they were born fighters and determined not to give up, so the animosity between the two gangs continued. Occasionally the Brigantes would stray too far into Roman territory just to piss them off and then the Romans would have to retaliate by raiding their territory, just because they could. Over time though things had settled down slightly and their fights these days rarely ended in death. Broken bones and several limbs that didn’t work the way they used to, but things hadn’t turned fatal in a long time.

 

Marcus glanced around, forcing his eyes away from the lithe form of MacCunoval who was neatly side-stepping Drusillus and avoiding an attempt to get him in a headlock. Happy that he wasn’t about to be jumped by anyone else, Marcus joined in with the scuffle that was continuing nearest to him, grabbing a Brigantes by his arms and holding them behind his back while Hilarion carried on rearranging the guy’s face; not that Hilarion wasn’t able to deal with things by himself but it gave Marcus a good vantage point to carry on watching the object of his growing fixation.

 

MacCunoval was still holding his own against Drusillus, dodging most of the punches thrown his way and managing to land a good few of his own. Eventually though Drusillus got the better of him as the two of them grappled. With a victorious whoop he picked MacCunoval up as if he were lifting weights at the gym and promptly tossed him into the circle of bushes that were the square’s only non-concrete feature. He caught Marcus’ eye, flexed his arms in his favourite Incredible Hulk pose and shouted something he liked to call his Roman war-cry before running full pelt at the main fight, now just a tangle of several bodies on the ground, joining in the mass of flying fists and feet and hauling a particularly large Brigantes off Lutorius. 

 

Hilarion finally gave up punching the semi-conscious Brigantes Marcus had been holding and Marcus let go, watching the guy slither to a bloody heap on the ground. He shot a quick glance at the cluster of bushes which were now rustling furiously and almost laughed out loud before setting off to join Drusillus and the others in giving the remaining Brigantes yet another pasting they wouldn’t be likely to forget in a hurry. He hadn’t even managed to throw another punch though before they were all brought back down to earth by the shrill sound of sirens approaching and, as quickly as it had started the fight broke up, everyone scattering in different directions, running, limping or being dragged away before the police turned up and started making arrests. Marcus took one last look at MacCunoval’s rapidly retreating figure and then found himself running side by side with Drusillus until they reached the relative safety of the crowded shopping precinct and slowed down to a fast walk. Drusillus was still pumped up and laughing uncontrollably as Marcus shoved him playfully on the side of his head.

 

“You’re a lunatic.”

 

“I fucking _love_ kicking the shit out of those wankers.” Drusillus grabbed a lamp-post and swung himself around it then let out another loud whoop, drawing a disapproving glare from a fierce-looking old lady with a tartan shopping trolley in one hand and a small white dog on a leash in the other. “It never gets old.”

 

“You’d fight anything,” Marcus pointed out. “You’re an adrenaline junkie.”

 

“It’s exercise. I hear exercise is good for people.”

 

“You should ask Guern about learning to box for real.”

 

“And miss all this?” Drusillus laughed gleefully. “Fuck no! Did you see when I chucked that wiry little fucker into the bushes? I’ve lifted pizzas that weigh more than he did.”

 

Marcus hoped the flush that he felt warming his cheeks didn’t show. “Nearly got the better of you though didn’t he? Thought at one point I was going to have to come and bail you out.”

 

“Fuck off!” Drusillus grinned at him and took off at a sprint, drawing an assortment of exclamations and curses from the weekend shoppers who scattered as he barged his way through them. 

 

Marcus waited for a moment before giving chase and eliciting a few more angry shouts from the crowds, knowing exactly where Drusillus was headed. 

 

Same place they all headed after a fight.

 

 

Drusillus had already disappeared from sight by the time Marcus reached the small industrial estate full of lock-up garages and run-down business units. He pulled up just before the familiar metal door covered with graffiti tags and waited for a moment to try and catch his breath before pushing it open. 

 

The lock-up the Romans used as their headquarters was always cold, even in high summer but it had all mod-cons; fridge, TV, even a games console, all of it probably stolen. One of the lads, a whiz with electrics, had even hooked them up to the power supply of the lock-up next door and the guy who owned it never said a word, just kept on paying the bills. There were definite perks to being the dominant force in this area of the city.

 

Marcus slumped into the tatty, overstuffed armchair that he always sat in, still a little out of breath, his heart still pounding. He was getting too old for this. He’d managed to escape any injuries that needed attention this time, nothing but a couple of bruises if the ache in his leg and his slightly closed left eye were anything to go by. Looking around at the array of bruises and bleeding wounds on the other guys, it seemed as if they’d all made it back in one piece and nobody needed abandoning at the doors of the nearest hospital. Placidus was deep in conversation with some of the boys who hadn’t been at the fight and Lutorius was limping and cursing loudly while Drusillus, still pumped from the fight, was bouncing around throwing wildly amateurish martial arts moves. He aimed a karate chop at Lutorius’ head and got a firm slap for his trouble.

 

“Get out of my face.”

 

“Ungrateful shit. That’s the last time I have your back in a fight.”

 

“I don’t need you having my back,” Lutorius snapped.

 

“Not much,” Drusillus shot back sarcastically. “You were well in control of the situation.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Had to finish one of the Brigantes off for you, didn’t I! Again.”

 

“I almost had him before you waded in,” Lutorius grumbled as he threw himself into a chair and cracked open a bottle of water.

 

“Course you did, mate. Course you did.” Drusillus stopped bouncing and perched on the arm of the chair next to him, his adrenaline rush finally over. “Next time, we’ll see if they can send over their little sisters for you to fight.” He winked at Marcus and grinned widely enough to show the gap where he’d lost a tooth a couple of years ago.

 

“Seriously though,” Lutorius said, ignoring the comment, “we need to get on top of these Brigantes once and for all. They’re like cockroaches. They never give up!” He sat up and exchanged the water for a packet of cigarettes. “What do you think, M?”

 

Marcus shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “They’re pretty persistent, I’ll give them that.”

 

“Sod the Brigantes.” Placidus stood on top of the crate they used as a makeshift table, kicking Lutorius’ bottle of water onto the floor. Marcus saw a few of the guys roll their eyes but they all crowded round; whenever Placidus got up onto the crate it meant he was about to say something deep and meaningful. “We’ve got a more pressing problem. The Seals have been seen around here a couple of times lately.” A rumble of discontent echoed around the lock-up. Nobody knew much about the Seals apart from the fact that they were a menace in the north of the city, universally feared. “They’re asking for trouble and they’re going to get it, cos we’re not standing for them coming here into our territory.” 

 

Placidus liked to think of himself as the official leader of the Romans, it gave him an excuse to be the self-important jerk he was but it was Marcus that everybody looked to when anything serious was going down. Nobody had any real respect for Placidus but he was the one with the connections that got people off the hook with the police when circumstances called for it, so he stayed as their figurehead even though he was a tosser. His father was the shady businessman to end all shady businessmen, with a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, most of them on the wrong side of legal. Wealthy, influential and as crooked as a corkscrew, he didn’t really care what his son got up to, he simply made any trouble disappear and there was no denying that it was safer having Placidus around than not.

 

If the Seals really did want to push into their territory then maybe the prissy son of a bitch would have to get his hands dirty and crack a few heads, if he could remember how to. Usually he managed to avoid much in the way of actual fighting. Outnumbered as they always were, the Brigantes never got near Placidus and he was usually flanked by Galba and Paulus anyway. He liked to think of them as his own personal bodyguards but they were just two dumb slabs of meat who stuck close to him because they thought it gave them some kind of status.

 

Marcus relaxed into his chair and closed his eyes, letting his attention drift away from Placidus and his impromptu war council and inevitably settling on MacCunoval again. 

He’d first noticed him months ago at one of the boxing tournaments Guern arranged in his gym. Both the Romans and the Brigantes were frequent visitors to the fight nights but, being Guern’s territory and therefore neutral ground, the only fighting allowed was in the ring, with gloves and rules. Despite that, they all seemed to gravitate there anyway - it was always a good way to check out the competition. Marcus had already been there with Drusillus, Lutorius and some of the others, watching the bouts and discreetly taking bets under Guern’s radar when several of the Brigantes had arrived and Marcus had immediately lost interest in the bets. He didn’t believe in love at first sight or any of that girly, romantic bullshit but something had drawn him to the younger man who, he’d suddenly realised, was scowling at him from across the room. Marcus had just stared, transfixed. It wasn’t the other guy’s looks that had caught his attention so much as it was the way he carried himself. The other Brigantes slouched into the gym, shoulders hunched, heads down but this one stood out from the rest; head up, chin out, eyes clear, his shoulders back and his back as straight as an arrow and Marcus had wondered how he’d never noticed him before.

 

There had been no fighting outside the ring that night, only the usual threats and insults and a few bottles thrown as the two groups of young men had faced off after leaving the gym, but Marcus had spent the rest of the night feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. As hard as he’d tried to, he’d been unable to get the guy out of his mind ever since, making a point of looking for him every time the Romans had tangled with the Brigantes. Finally, in an attempt to find something out about him, Marcus had asked Guern a few discreet questions and had at least come up with a name to put to the face that slipped into his dreams most nights.

 

As he settled further into his armchair, the drone of voices still in the background, Marcus wondered again if he was fooling himself that sometimes their eyes met for just a fraction longer than was necessary and he saw a brief spark of interest. They’d never spoken, never done anything but look at each other from opposite sides of a fight and it was always Marcus who looked away first, his cheeks burning. He had often wondered what he’d do if the day ever came where he had to fight MacCunoval one-on-one but so far it had never happened. They’d come close once but MacCunoval had simply stood and stared defiantly at him as the other guys had carried on beating the crap out of each other around them. For a second before his wits returned, all Marcus had wanted to do was wrap his arms around that lean, compact body and dance with him. A baseball bat or something equally solid hitting him across the back of his head so hard he saw stars had been enough to bring him back to reality however and the moment was gone. MacCunoval had disappeared into the fight and Marcus had hit the ground, brought back down to earth in more ways than one.

 

“You see, Marcus knows what I’m talking about.” The mention of his name drew Marcus back to the present and he looked up to see Placidus still standing on his makeshift platform, having been waxing lyrical all this time about the Seals and the lesson they were going to learn for having the nerve to come south. “He’s so up for hitting those Seals where it hurts he can’t keep the smile off his face! He gets it.”

 

The smile Marcus hadn’t even known was on his face promptly disappeared.

 

 

It was dark by the time most of the lads started to drift away from the lock-up, back to whatever lives they had outside. Marcus pulled his hood up to keep out the chill in the air and stuffed his hands as far as they’d go into the pockets of his jeans. He walked quickly along the path beside the canal, ducking through the arched pedestrian tunnel under the railway bridge that he was too tall to stand upright in and ran up the steps to the front of the slightly shabby converted railway warehouse that he lived in. Like he always did, he took a quick look around before going through the front door and took the stairs two at a time up to his flat on the second floor. Another scan of the landing as he pulled out his key, then he opened the door and shut the world out. 

 

It was quiet apart from the faint noise from a neighbour’s TV and Marcus took a few minutes to enjoy the peaceful solitude of his tiny rented flat after the commotion of the day. He had a lot on his mind these days; not only a spirited and enigmatic Brigantes but a feeling of restlessness, a niggling sense that he wanted something better, a future that wouldn’t be found with the gang. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of running with the Romans; they were the nearest thing he had to family now. He’d been drawn into the gang because it had been the only way to follow in his dad’s footsteps and he’d wanted it badly. He’d idolised his dad and when he’d disappeared two decades ago, Marcus had been devastated. His mum had told him as much as she knew, that his dad and some of his friends had gone north of the river one day and simply never come home but in truth, it was assumed that they had ended up as victims of one of the other gangs that roamed the northern half of the city. Marcus had wanted to join the Romans and avenge his dad, to fight against anyone and everyone just in case they were the ones responsible. Time had passed though and he was older and slightly wiser now and he was getting tired of fighting, of seeing other young men’s lives blighted by violence and crime before they were even out of their teens. He’d got himself a job and found somewhere to call his home but sometimes he imagined building a life for himself somewhere else, a more conventional existence – a better place to call home, a job that paid more; maybe exchange the wife for a boyfriend and the 2.4 children for 2.4 dogs though.

 

He surfed channels while he ate a couple of cold slices of pizza he’d unearthed in the fridge but he couldn’t find anything he could concentrate on watching so when the display on his phone said it was gone midnight Marcus gave up and went to bed. He couldn’t settle though so he sat up in his bed with a couple of bottles of beer to keep him company and, as usual, started to think about MacCunoval. Of all the people he had to get the hots for, why did it have to be a Brigantes? He was the enemy. The way Marcus saw it, he had two choices; one, accept once and for all that MacCunoval was off limits and forget about him or two, try and think up a plan that would allow him to get to know the guy without ending up six feet under.

 

It didn't take him too long to figure out which option he wanted to go for but it was too late and he was too tired to start planning now. He finished the last of his beer and lay back in the bed, sliding one of his hands into his shorts and closing his eyes. He conjured up his favourite image of MacCunoval; on his knees, the expression on his face somewhere between defiance and downright arrogance as he looked up at Marcus standing in front of him. MacCunoval’s arms were bare so Marcus could see the tattoo that identified him as one of the Brigantes. They all had it, a band of blue around the bicep of their right arm. In his fantasy, Marcus would tilt his head back so that as MacCunoval looked up at him, he’d be able to see the thick scar under Marcus’ chin, the Romans’ identifier, far more subtle than a tattoo. Marcus settled further into the bed, his hand tight around his cock as he stroked himself in firm, slow motions. In his head MacCunoval was still on his knees, still glowering up at Marcus with those penetrating eyes as Marcus guided him forward and slid his cock between his lips. He groaned softly as he imagined that sulky mouth sucking greedily at him and within a few more strokes of his hand he was coming. Looking dolefully down at the mess in his lap, Marcus yawned widely and did the best he could to clean himself up before finally turning out the lamp and dropping off to sleep.

 

 

Once Marcus had finished moving the exhibits for the new display, he stood back to admire his handiwork. He’d been lucky to land this job a few days a week at the Museum of Military History and when he’d looked at his reflection in the mirror that morning, sporting a black eye and an angry cut above his eyebrow, he’d been worried that he was going to have his work cut out explaining them to his boss but nobody had said anything. At least he was behind the scenes and not scaring the visitors. He made his way back down to the staffroom for his break, stopping on the way to buy a can of coke from the vending machine in the staff area. After nodding a few greetings to some of the other employees, he opened the can and idly flicked through the pages of a magazine someone had left behind. It was nothing interesting so he stared out the window and tried to think up a plan to meet MacCunoval. 

 

There had to be somewhere that the guy went on his own where Marcus could try and engineer a meeting but that meant following him and finding out his routine. It would be tricky but not impossible, he’d just have to be careful and keep his wits about him. Maybe MacCunoval had a job or a beloved grandmother who he visited in a care home, or maybe he spent every other Wednesday afternoon reading through the entire works of Shakespeare at the public library. There would be something and all Marcus had to do was to be patient and await an opportunity. He drained the coke can and tossed it across the room at the bin, getting a loud cheer and applause from two of his colleagues when it flew straight into its target. He stood up, gave a theatrical bow and made his way back through the museum to his favourite section. He wasn’t sure whether it was just because of the shared name with the gang that had always been a part of his life but the Roman military exhibits fascinated him. Well, the whole museum fascinated him, that’s why he felt so lucky to be able to work here, but it was Roman history that kept him coming back over and over again to pore over the replica uniforms and weapons and the dioramas of great battles. He was pretty much an expert these days and spent as much time as he could here, when he wasn’t with a different bunch of Romans. He wondered if MacCunoval would be interested in this kind of stuff and sighed – maybe it would be for the best if the guy turned out to be a boring, illiterate moron and this semi-obsession evaporated before he got in over his head. He’d never know if he didn’t try though and no matter what else he was, Marcus was no quitter. He’d formulated some semblance of a plan now and he was going to see it through, even if it turned out that the flash of interest he’d caught in MacCunoval’s eyes sometimes was all in his imagination.

 

 

A few days later saw the latest of Guern’s fight nights. Marcus and most of the other Romans were there as always, mingling with the gym’s regulars and those who had simply come to see the boxing. In his mid forties now, Guern did his best to steer the younger boys from the surrounding areas away from the gangs, allowing them to fight out their frustrations in the boxing ring and pointing out the more sordid aspects of life in the gangs, becoming an unofficial father figure and mentor to those of them that had no father at home.

 

He had been a Roman once, a long time ago but he’d got out and settled down to raise a family, somehow managing to retain a continued respect amongst the current initiates while the friends he’d known were behind bars or dead or just vanished into necessary obscurity. He may have long since flown the coop but he was one of them, always had been, always would be and what’s more, he’d known Marcus’ dad. He was a lifeline to the past and Marcus would always be grateful to him for it.

 

Marcus smiled as Guern came over to him and clapped him on the back. “Long time, no see. You look good, apart from that eye.” He peered closer and Marcus waved him away.

 

“It’s nothing. You should’ve seen it last week.” Marcus hopped up to sit on the edge of the boxing ring as people bustled around preparing for the next bout. “How’s things?”

 

“Good. You?”

 

Marcus shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward, elbows balanced on his thighs.

“I’m still around.”

 

“So I see.” Guern raised his eyebrows quizzically. “No betting tonight?” 

 

“Betting?” Marcus tried his best to look shocked but it was a struggle to keep the smile off his face as several of the others started sniggering. “Us?”

 

“You boys think I’m deaf, dumb and blind but I’m not as old and decrepit as you think.”

 

“I swear we don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drusillus said in his best mock-sincere voice, sidling over to stand next to them. “You wouldn’t allow anything like that and we’d never try and pull a fast one.”

 

Guern chuckled and nodded his head. “Yeah, you’re a proper bunch of cherubs.”

 

“Hey, guys.” Lutorius indicated to Marcus’ left with an exaggerated nod of his head. “There’s a group of Brigantes here.”

 

“Not worth bothering about,” Placidus said. “They won’t try anything, not here and there’s only six of them.”

 

As nonchalantly as he could, Marcus turned his head and felt his pulse speed up a little as he saw MacCunoval wearing the same grey hoodie that he always wore, a size or two too big for him, a swirly tribal pattern not unlike the tattoo on his arm printed on it in a band, front and back.  He was talking to a boy several years younger than he was, a kid Marcus had seen at the gym before, always at MacCunoval’s side. They were very alike; same wiry build, same coppery brown hair, same sharp features and Marcus wondered whether they were related. He didn’t get time to think on it further though before something else caught his attention at the door to the reception area. The Seals. What the hell were they doing here? It looked like Placidus had been right and no good ever came of Placidus being right. The others had noticed too, each and every one of them bristling and drawing together in an instinctive show of strength.

 

“What do you know about the Seals?” Marcus asked Guern, jumping down from the ringside.

 

“Enough to know that nothing good’s going to come of this,” he growled in a voice so low Marcus wasn’t sure anybody else could’ve heard him. “All I know is that they’re a whole new kind of ruthless,” Guern continued, loud enough for everyone’s benefit.  “There are no rules with them. They have a reputation for stopping at nothing to get what they want and if they’ve decided they want to move south, God help anyone who gets in their way.”

 

“Fuck that!” Placidus spat out, glaring coldly at the band of Seals who were staring back at them, wordlessly taunting them. “We need to show those freaks who’s boss around here.”

 

“They’re not even at full strength, they’re just here to show their faces and let you know they’re around. The leader’s name is Liathan.” Guern indicated the tall man at the front of the group, watching them with his arms folded across his chest and a look of utter contempt on his stony face. “Not a man to be messed with from what I hear.”

 

“Yeah, well we’re not to be messed with either,” added Lutorius.

 

Placidus patted him on the shoulder, still looking daggers at the new arrivals. “Liathan? Stupid fucking name to go with their stupid fucking haircuts.” While the Romans and the Brigantes could easily cover the symbols that identified them, the Seals were instantly recognisable with their Mohican haircuts. They didn’t care that people knew who they were, that was all part of the fear that they installed. “He thinks he’s just going to walk into our territory and drive us out, but we rule around here and we’ll wipe them out like the disease they are.”

 

“No trouble in here, boys,” Guern warned. “You know the rules. This is _my_ territory, nobody else’s. Mine.”

 

“They’re the ones coming here to make trouble, not us. They’ve got no right being here.” Even when he was trying to be angry and authoritarian, Placidus just sounded petulant, like a spoilt child who didn’t want to share his toys.

 

Somebody rang a bell somewhere and the next boxing match started but none of the Romans paid it any attention. Still grouped together in one solid unit, they made their way around the ring towards where the Seals were. As he moved with the others, Marcus couldn’t help but glance over to where the handful of Brigantes, MacCunoval included, were watching with interest, waiting to see what was going to happen. 

 

Whatever was going to happen wasn’t going to happen in the crowded gym though. Led by the guy Guern had called Liathan, the Seals turned and started to leave. Placidus was almost purple with rage.

 

“Fucking cowards!” he snapped loudly.

 

Liathan stopped and turned back to look at him, an obvious challenge on his face as he sharply nodded his head towards the door then indicated to the rest of the Seals to follow him outside. Ready for a confrontation, the Romans followed after them, some of them picking up whatever they could find to use as weapons in addition to the knives some of them would inevitably be carrying. Marcus never carried a knife himself. He preferred his fists and his strength to see him through but he figured that if this thing with the Seals couldn’t be put down quickly, he might have to start. The Seals were an unknown quantity; Marcus didn’t know what kind of weapons they would have hidden on them.

 

They spilled out onto the pavement where the Seals were waiting, the two gangs squaring up to each other in a show of bravado, each sizing up the enemy while the Brigantes loitered in the gym’s doorway, watching. The Seals were mostly tall and lean, matching the Romans in numbers and Marcus figured it would be one hell of a fight once it started. His heart sped up and his fists clenched in anticipation.

 

“Oi!” Guern’s voice suddenly boomed out from behind them as he pushed past the Brigantes. “Enough! If any of you think I won’t go straight back inside and call the police, you’ve got another thing coming!” He walked around the Romans and stood between them and the Seals. “I want all of you out of here! Now!”

 

For a moment nobody moved but then Liathan moved forward and stood in front of Guern. He stared at him with undisguised insolence then spat at his feet. “We’re just here to watch the fights,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm that didn’t show on his expressionless face. “We heard it’s pretty entertaining. A bit pathetic, like everything down here,” he fixed Placidus with a condescending stare, “but worth seeing for a laugh.”

 

Marcus felt Drusillus tense beside him, itching to turn things physical and he placed a firm hand on his arm to stop him. Not yet. For a while they all stood watching each other, nobody moving. Marcus took a quick look over to where the Brigantes hung back, watching warily, ready to take on all-comers if it came to that, never ones to be left out of a fight. MacCunoval kept the younger boy behind him, shielding him, ready to push him away if a fight broke out but he needn’t have worried. The stand-off continued, just a lot of angry young men staring at each other, trying to intimidate through stance and eye-contact.

 

Laughing, the Seals finally drifted away and disappeared from sight, leaving the Romans and the Brigantes standing outside the gym. Guern looked from one group to the other. “No trouble. I’m tired of saying that tonight and I’m not going to say it again. Get out of here, all of you. Go kill each other somewhere else.” He went back into the gym and slammed the door behind him.

 

The Romans and the small group of Brigantes eye-balled each other suspiciously for a moment, then the leader of the Brigantes indicated to the others to leave and they started to back away down the street. Marcus caught MacCunoval’s eye but looked away instantly as an idea sprang into his head. This could be his chance to put his plan into action, to follow him and find out where he lived. 

 

As the rest of the lads huddled round to discuss the Seals, he caught Drusillus’ arm and pulled him in close. “You still carry a knife?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“I need it.”

 

Drusillus frowned. “What are you up to?”

 

“Nothing. I’ve just got something to do and I don’t want to be unarmed in case I run into trouble.” The Seals could still be around after all and even if not, if he ran into the Brigantes he wouldn’t be able to fight them all off single-handed.

 

Drusillus handed over his knife and mumbled something which was probably a warning but Marcus wasn’t listening. He hung back, pulling his hood up to shield his face and as soon as the Brigantes were out of sight he jogged after them, keeping to the shadows and peering cautiously around the corner of the last building on the street to make sure it was safe. He had a rough idea of the direction they’d take if they were going back to their own tiny piece of territory and it was relatively easy to follow unseen. Eventually he saw them, still only the half dozen that had come to the gym, loitering outside a late-night shop and he waited in the shadows for what seemed like an age until he got lucky and MacCunoval and the younger kid left on their own. 

 

Marcus didn’t have to follow them for long before they headed into one of the dilapidated old tower blocks but there was no way he could follow inside so he waited for an hour, just watching and wondering if any of the shadows he could see behind the dozens of lighted windows was MacCunoval. When it started to rain and Marcus realised he was frozen through he reluctantly began to make his way home, thinking all the time about how to put the next stage of his plan into action.

 

 

Marcus found an inconspicuous vantage point where he could watch the doors to the tower block and for the next few days he spent as much time there as he could when he wasn’t with the Romans or at the museum, always keeping a lookout for trouble that thankfully never came. Whenever he saw MacCunoval though he was never alone, either with some other Brigantes or the kid who looked like him but first thing in the morning on the first full day where he had nowhere better to be, Marcus finally saw him leave the tower block on his own and followed him again. 

 

This part of the city was unfamiliar, a maze of alleyways and underpasses that made following someone unnoticed in the daylight more difficult than simply blending into a crowd on a busy street. After a while MacCunoval headed up to a busier area which made things a little easier and Marcus continued to follow at a discreet distance, ducking quickly into a shop doorway when MacCunoval suddenly stopped and turned back to look down the street. He waited a few seconds then peered out from behind the doorframe, his heart pounding. MacCunoval had set off again but Marcus felt obliged to hold the door of the shop open for a woman struggling with twins in a buggy before he carried on following, hurrying to catch up a little, determined not to lose his target.

 

Finally MacCunoval turned down a side street and disappeared into a unit that proclaimed _Eagle Autos_ on a freshly painted sign above the doors. Marcus looked around and spotted a café across the road from the garage. He smiled at his luck and crossed over, pushing open the door to the café and looking around. It seemed a decent enough place as he rummaged through his pockets for some cash and asked the girl behind the counter for a coffee.

 

“Have a seat, love,” she said cheerily. “I’ll bring it over to you.”

 

The café wasn’t busy so Marcus picked a table in the corner where he had a good view of the street and sat down, taking a sip of his surprisingly good coffee when it arrived. The doors to the garage were open now and Marcus could see straight in to where MacCunoval and another man, both dressed in dark blue overalls, were tinkering under the bonnet of a car. By the afternoon Marcus had drunk more coffee than was healthy, learned the waitress’s life history and eavesdropped on the conversations of all the other customers who came and went. He was bored and grumpy and he shifted uncomfortably on the chair, his arse starting to go numb from sitting so long. This had been a stupid idea and he wasn’t even sure what he intended to do next; go into the garage? Wait outside and accost MacCunoval when he left? He sighed and cradled his head in his hands for a minute. He was an idiot. 

 

Over the hum of conversation in the café, he vaguely registered the door opening but didn’t look up until he felt someone standing next to him. Marcus raised his eyes and his heart lurched half in excitement and half in panic.

 

“You’ve been watching me,” MacCunoval snapped at him angrily, drawing curious glances from the couple at the next table. “Why?”

 

Marcus stood up, hoping his size advantage would deter MacCunoval from doing anything stupid. “Sit down,” he offered, as it was the only thing he could think of to say. This wasn’t quite what he’d expected to happen but then he hadn’t given much thought to what he expected to happen in reality, his mind full of fantasies. He really hadn’t thought this through. “Do you want some coffee?”

 

“Piss off!” MacCunoval took a step back but he looked ready to fight, his whole body tense, his fists clenched by his sides. 

 

They’d never been this close before and Marcus couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over MacCunoval’s face for a second. The scowl shifted a fraction into something more curious and Marcus held up his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t want any trouble.” 

 

“Then you’re in the wrong place.” MacCunoval glanced quickly around the cafe as if he expected a horde of Romans to come rushing at him. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you lurking around? I’m not blind or stupid.”

 

“So why didn’t you tell your pals and take me out when you had the chance? I’ve been here all day.” Marcus kept his voice low, aware that they were causing a ripple of whispers and sniggers amongst the other customers. MacCunoval just scowled at him again, the curiosity gone. “I really don’t want any trouble. I just wanted to talk to you.”

 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re up to but……just get lost, yeah?” As quickly as he’d appeared, MacCunoval was gone, dodging a couple of cars as he ran across the street. When he reached the other side he hesitated and turned to look back towards Marcus, still stood by his table at the window then he vanished into the garage and closed the doors behind him.

 

Marcus took his empty coffee cup to the counter and smiled weakly at the waitress when she raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. Not knowing what to say was becoming a habit.

 

 

He went back to the café at lunchtime the next day but the garage was quiet and although the doors were open, there was nobody to be seen. As Marcus stared hard, trying to see deep into the dark interior of the building from across the street, a slight movement caught his attention and he could only just make out a tuft of hair and an eye poking out from the side of the garage door. A few seconds later the tuft and the eye disappeared and that was that, so Marcus left after only two coffees and more chat with the friendly waitress. He tried again a couple of days later but was rewarded with only a brief glance of what might have been MacCunoval working on a car before he had to leave to meet up with the others at the lock-up and it was almost a week after he’d first gone to the garage before he had a whole day free to sit and wait and watch.

 

Already buzzing as he nursed his umpteenth coffee of the day, his foot tapping on the floor, Marcus was so intent on watching the garage so that he wasn’t caught short by MacCunoval again that this time it was a different person entirely who managed to creep up on him unnoticed.

 

“Whatcha doing?”

 

Marcus looked up sharply to see Drusillus pulling up a chair and sitting opposite him. 

Shit. He was doomed and it was all his own stupid fault. He should really take this as a sign and just give up. “Nothing much,” he said. “You?”

 

“Bit of this, bit of that. You waiting for someone?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“You look nervous.” Drusillus reached over and punched him in the shoulder. Marcus winced. The guy didn’t know his own strength. “Who is she?”

 

“I’m not waiting for anyone.”

 

“The waitress is a bit of alright and she keeps looking over here. You been giving her the old Aquila charm, eh?” Drusillus didn’t wait for an answer, which was a good thing as Marcus didn’t have one. “Fuck,” he hissed suddenly. “That’s one of those Brigantes!”

 

“Where?”

 

“Over the road, outside that garage.”

 

Marcus had to force himself to look over to where MacCunoval was waving goodbye to a customer who’d just picked up his car. He nodded his head and tried to look suitably disgusted at the close proximity of a Brigantes.

 

“Oh, him. He’s nothing.”

 

“Are you planning to jump him?” Drusillus asked, his voice full of excitement at the prospect of a fight.

 

 _Not in the way you’re thinking,_ Marcus said to himself.  “Nah,” he said out loud, making it up as he went along “he’s not worth it. Just thought I’d keep an eye on him, see if there’s anything going down but I haven’t seen any of the rest of them round here.”

 

“You sure you’re not interested in that waitress?” Drusillus’ attention had already been diverted away from the garage. “She’s hot.”

 

“Ok, you got me,” Marcus held up his hands, grasping the opportunity to put Drusillus off coming back to the cafe. “It’s the waitress. I’ve been coming here for a while and I was thinking maybe I’d ask her out. I saw her first though, so you can fuck off.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of stepping on your toes, M. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Marcus grinned at him and nodded towards the door. “Then get lost, you’re cramping my style.”

 

Drusillus left with a grin, a theatrical wink and a crude gesture behind the girl’s back, and thankfully didn’t feel the need to go across the street to cause a rumpus. Marcus heaved a sigh of relief. As soon as the garage closed for the day, he intended to follow MacCunoval home and maybe try to talk to him on the way. After their earlier confrontation, Marcus had half expected more of the same or possibly a Brigantes welcoming committee waiting for him but nothing had happened. MacCunoval knew he was still there; Marcus could see him occasionally looking over from the doors of Eagle Autos but he’d made no attempt to try and deter Marcus further. In Marcus’ lust-addled mind, that was a good sign. 

 

He whiled away the rest of the afternoon reading a newspaper that someone had left behind, filling in the crossword and doodling on the pages while he waited and he almost missed MacCunoval leaving. Cursing under his breath, Marcus stood up quickly and made his way out of the door to follow. As fast as he walked, it seemed that MacCunoval managed to keep a fair distance ahead of him so Marcus heard the fight in progress well before he turned the corner out of an underpass and saw anything, years of practice alerting him to the tell-tale sounds.

 

Seals. There were four of them and they had MacCunoval cornered. 

 

“Hey!” Marcus shouted, already running. “Hey!” He grabbed one of the Seals by the shoulder and head-butted him, the guy’s nose exploding in a spray of blood. His hands went up to his face and Marcus finished him off with a vicious right hook that knocked him off his feet and left him squirming dazedly on the ground. MacCunoval was no longer on his feet and was now curled up into a foetal position, arms over his head as he tried to withstand the relentless kicks that were raining down on him from the three remaining Seals. “Get away from him, you fuckers!” Marcus yelled. “Leave him!”

 

He got hold of one of the Seals around the neck and kicked him in the back of his knee so that the guy’s leg buckled and he went down, another punch knocking him senseless. With only two attackers to deal with now, MacCunoval had been able to fight back and he pulled one of them down onto the ground with him, slamming his head into the concrete as he kicked out at the other one and sent him stumbling into Marcus. Marcus caught him and twisted his arm up against his back, trying to wrestle him to the ground but the Seal was fast. He wriggled free and brought his fist up hard into Marcus’s jaw. Marcus fell backwards, momentarily winded as he looked up to see MacCunoval leap onto the guy’s back and dig his fingers into his eye sockets. The Seal howled and whirled around, throwing MacCunoval off his back before dropping to his knees.

 

“Come on.” Marcus staggered to his feet, grabbing MacCunoval by the sleeve and pulling him away before the Seals could regroup. “Come on!”

 

MacCunoval picked up a discarded beer bottle and hurled it with devastating accuracy at one of the Seals who had managed to recover and come back for more. It hit the guy square on the head, stopping him in his tracks and then shattered loudly on the ground. They started to run then, Marcus following blindly in unfamiliar territory and hoping that MacCunoval was running somewhere they’d be safe for a while. Eventually they pulled up outside a row of shops, MacCunoval doubling over and holding his stomach as he gasped in obvious pain.

 

“Are you ok?” Marcus wheezed. He couldn’t see any blood but he thought maybe he’d caught sight of a blade during the scuffle and MacCunoval looked to be in real discomfort. 

 

“What’s it to you?” was the snappy answer he got.

 

“You should get to a hospital.” Marcus reached out, intending to have a look for any injury but his hand was immediately smacked away.

 

“Don’t touch me! I’m fine.” MacCunoval stared up at him in disbelief. “Are you for real?” he asked. “Why did you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Help me out.” He spat a glob of blood-stained saliva onto the ground and rubbed at a bruise already blooming across his jaw. “I’d have thought you’d have a blast watching one of us getting killed.” 

 

“You’ve got me all wrong,” Marcus said. “I’m really a nice guy once you get to know me.”

 

“You’re a fucking Roman.” MacCunoval hesitated, looking mightily pissed off, as if he was about to say something that he found particularly distasteful. “I hate everything about you but you saved my skin back there so maybe, just between me and you, I owe you one.”

 

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

 

MacCunoval looked around, still wincing in pain and breathing heavily. “We’d better get out of here before they come back with reinforcements. I’m guessing you can find your way home?” It was more a dismissal than a genuine enquiry.

 

Marcus nodded. “I’ll see you around then,” he said hopefully.

 

MacCunoval frowned at him in puzzlement then he pulled his hood up over his head and ran off, still clutching his side.

 

 

“You on your own?” Guern asked as Marcus loped into his office.

 

“Yeah.” Marcus opened the little fridge and took out a coke, his mouth dry after the run-in with MacCunoval and the Seals. “Thought I’d drop in before I head up to the lock-up.”

 

“You know,” Guern grumbled, “nobody else would get away with swanning in here and raiding my fridge.”

 

“But I’m special, right?”

 

“Special’s one word for it. Did you want something? Apart from a free coke?”

 

“I wanted to talk to you.” Not about MacCunoval. He wasn’t ready to tell anyone about that yet, not even Guern but he wanted to sound him out about getting free of the gang. Marcus hesitated, focusing on sounds from elsewhere in the building of laughter and the rhythmic thudof boxing gloves hitting punch-bags. He stared at the coke can, not really sure how to start but he knew Guern was really the only person he could talk to so he had to start somewhere or keep it to himself. “I’ve been thinking about getting out for a while, getting away from the gangs. And this thing with the Seals, I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

 

“You’re not alone there.” 

 

“I just don’t know what to do.”

 

“It’s not always easy to get out once you’re in, but it can be done,” Guern said. “I joined the Romans because in those days, it was what the boys around here did. There was nothing else to do and if you said no, you regretted it. The Brigantes were already on the way out but they still packed a punch and without the Romans to protect you, you were a sitting duck.”

 

“But then you wanted out.”

 

“I’m not proud of a lot of the things I did back in the day. Eventually I wanted a quieter life, just like you probably do so I made the break.” Guern smiled warmly. “Got a wife, kids, the gym. I was lucky. I had help.” 

 

“I just want to get away from here, start over again somewhere new. There’s too many bad memories here.”

 

“You still think about your dad?”

 

“Of course I do.” An image of his dad flashed before Marcus’ eyes; the last time he saw him as he’d smiled and ruffled his hair, telling him to be a good boy for his mum. “Do you? You knew him.”

 

“Your mum too. They were devoted to each other and they loved you.” Guern reached over and ruffled Marcus’ hair the same way his dad had done, chuckling. “You were a really cute kid.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Marcus grinned at him and swatted his hand away.

 

“Shame you had to grow up. Seriously though, your dad was a good man. I miss him. He should never have gone north that day and for the life of me, I don’t know why he did.”

 

They were quiet for a moment, both of them remembering a man long gone. “I think it’s the right time to get out,” Marcus said softly. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder all the time. I always thought I’d be with the Romans for life but now I just feel as if everything I do is going against the grain. It feels……wrong.”

 

Guern nodded then tipped his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “That’s not all though, hmm? The gang and the Seals?”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“I’ve seen it all before, been around the block a few times. I know that look. Somebody’s got you all hot under the collar.”

 

Marcus grimaced and stared at his feet, shuffling them in embarrassment. He shrugged his shoulders, thinking about Esca MacCunoval. “What can I say. There might be a person of interest.”

 

“Spill the beans. You look as if you’re about to explode if you don’t tell someone.”

 

“I’m not telling you anything. You, or anybody else.”

 

“I knew it,” Guern teased. “Young love.”

 

“It’s not love, just mild infatuation. It’s not like I’m making great plans for the future.” Marcus’ phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked it to see a message from Placidus. _Where are you?_ He sighed and reluctantly headed for the door.“I’d better go.”

 

“Hey!” Guern called after him. “Any of your boys good with cars?”

 

“I know a mechanic.” He smiled as he thought about the mechanic he knew. “What’s up?”

 

“Leaking radiator I think. I need to get it sorted but I don’t have time right now to do it myself.”

 

The words tumbled out before Marcus could think about what he was saying. “Give me the keys and I’ll take it for you tomorrow.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Have I ever let you down?” Guern looked a little suspicious but he tossed him the keys anyway and Marcus caught them. “Consider it done. I’ll let you know what he says.”

 

 

There was no sign of MacCunoval at Eagle Autos when Marcus pulled up in Guern’s car but a tall, middle-aged man was tinkering under the bonnet of an ancient Citroen.

 

“Hi.”

 

The man looked up and nodded his head in greeting. The name on his overalls read _Sutcliff_. “Alright son. What can we do for you?”

 

“Is, eh, is Esca MacCunoval here?”

 

“Should be out back, on his break. You a mate of his?”

 

“Yeah, something like that,” Marcus lied. “I need someone to take a look at my car, wondered if Esca could do it.” 

 

“No mate’s rates. Any work that gets done, you still pay full price. I’m not running a charity.”

 

Marcus nodded and looked around nervously. “That’s fine.” 

 

Sutcliff whistled loudly, repeating it twice more before Marcus heard a door open and shut and MacCunoval appeared, overalls tied around his waist, wearing a grubby white t-shirt that revealed some pretty serious muscles in his arms. Marcus tried not to stare and failed miserably.

 

“Help your mate out with his car,” Sutcliff said, already back tinkering with the Citroen. “I’ve already told him, no mate’s rates.”

 

MacCunoval glowered at them both before giving his full unfriendly attention to Marcus. “What the fuck do you want now?” he asked.

 

“Car needs fixing.”

 

“I’m not fixing your car.”

 

“It’s not my car,” Marcus pointed out, hoping maybe it would make a difference. “It’s Guern’s.”

 

“Tell him to bring it in himself.” The glare intensified.

 

“He’s busy. I’m doing him a favour.”

 

“Then go someplace else. I’m not doing anything for you.”

 

“Jesus, Esca!” Sutcliff hurled a rolled-up newspaper at MacCunoval’s head. “No arguing with the customers or you’ll be out on your ear, understand?” MacCunoval – Esca, whatever - opened his mouth as if he was going to make a stand but the other man cut him off. “I’m trying to run a business here. Take your mate’s details and have a look at the car, see what’s wrong with it.” 

 

His tone made it clear there was no room for argument. MacCunoval swore under his breath and trudged outside to Guern’s car, peering in the windows suspiciously, looking for the trap that he expected Marcus had set for him. “So why are you here?” he asked. “I’m assuming you’re not going to start anything serious in front of these guys if you’re on your own.” He indicated two burly mechanics who had emerged from the back of the garage and were now starting to fit a new exhaust pipe to a car up on the lift. “What have you got planned? Salt in my tea? Itching powder down my overalls? Are you going to pull scary faces at me until I start crying? What?”

 

“I just brought in the car to be repaired.” Marcus held out his hand, mentally reminding himself what the whole point of this was before he just gave up and walked out. “I’m Marcus.”

 

“I know who you are.”

 

“Yeah but we’ve never been officially introduced.” God, this was hard work. “It’s Esca, right?”

 

“Perfect gentleman, aren’t you.” Esca continued to ignore his extended hand so Marcus withdrew it. 

 

“Just because we belong to different gangs doesn’t mean we can’t say hello when nobody else is around.”

 

“I think you’ll find it does. Anyway, you wankers are more a club than a gang, with your so-called leader and his dad’s money. And what’s with that scar thing?” He pushed Marcus’ head back to make a show of looking under his chin and, as much as Marcus liked the idea of having the guy touch him, he still jerked his head away in annoyance. “Could you pussies not think of anything better?”

 

“You’re calling _us_ pussies?” Marcus snapped, automatically on the defensive. “When was the last time the Brigantes actually got the better of us and won a fight? We kick your arses and you run off!” 

 

Esca continued to scowl at him, arms folded across his chest and Marcus wanted to punch himself in the face. All this effort to meet him face to face, risking god knows what if his motives had been found out by any of the other Romans or if he’d misread the cautious interest in Esca’s eyes and walked into a Brigantes ambush, and he could’ve blown it all by flying off the handle. He glanced across at Esca who was still frowning, his mouth set in a sulky pout. Hopefully the guy was just pushing his buttons; trying to sound him out, to see if he was for real. Marcus took a deep breath and tried again. “Last time I saw you, you said you owed me one,” he pointed out, trying to put a smile into his voice and giving Esca his best winning look.

 

“You can put that down to temporary insanity.” Esca appeared to think it over then gave an overly dramatic sigh and stood in front of the car. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Open her up.”

 

Marcus opened the driver’s door and pulled the lever so Esca could lift the bonnet and take a look inside. 

 

“Are you ok?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. “From the other day, I mean.”

 

“Just a few bruises, not that it’s any of your business.” Esca poked around for a while then leaned further in and Marcus couldn’t help but smile and stare as the overalls stretched tight across his arse. 

 

“I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

 

Esca turned his head to look up at Marcus and caught him staring but Marcus could have sworn the semi-permanent frown eased for a second before it was back with bells on. “Like watching other people work, do you?” He stood up, dropped the car bonnet and wiped his hands on a rag. “£50,” he said curtly. “Won’t take long, it’s just the radiator hose that’s leaking and we’ve probably got the part in stock. Leave the car with me and pick it up tomorrow.” He held out his hand for the keys, snatched them and walked off, leaving Marcus standing outside on the pavement and seriously wondering whether all this was worth the hassle. 

 

 

 

 

When Marcus picked the car up just before the garage closed the next day, he didn’t receive a welcome that was much warmer than the one he’d received the day before. If the restless and exhausting night he’d just had told him anything though, it was that for some reason the open hostility just piqued his interest even more. He was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t been hit in the head once too often and his brain was slowly turning to mush.

 

“We’re even.” Esca took the cash Marcus had picked up from the gym and handed him the keys with a hastily written receipt. He had a smudge of grease on the side of his nose which Marcus tried not to stare at.

 

“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate you doing this.” Esca looked distracted, not in the mood for passing the time of day and Marcus had to think of something fast to keep his attention and get a reaction otherwise he was back to square one. He ruefully dismissed kissing Esca or pinning him against the car and going down on him. “Why did the scarecrow get promoted?” he blurted out, trying to keep his voice steady as his brain tortured him with pornographic images of going down on Esca.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s a joke. Why did the scarecrow get promoted?”

 

Esca appeared genuinely confused. “What?” he repeated, obviously forgetting that joke etiquette stated he was supposed to ask with unbridled enthusiasm “I don’t know. Why _did_ the scarecrow get promoted?”

 

“Because he was outstanding in his field.” Marcus knew that he was clutching at straws and making himself look like a fool but he couldn’t stop. “Out, standing in his field. Outstanding.” Esca continued to stare at him then shifted his gaze to look somewhere behind Marcus. Marcus turned around but there was nothing there he could see worth looking at. “What is it?”

 

“I could swear I just saw some tumbleweed roll past.” He looked back at Marcus. “Jokes? Really? Do I look four years old to you?”

 

“You act four years old sometimes.”

 

“You’re not funny. And anyway, since when does someone tell a joke and then immediately try to explain it?”

 

“You didn’t laugh. I thought you didn’t get it.”

 

“It’s not the joke I don’t get. It’s you.”

 

Undeterred, Marcus carried on. “Did you hear the one about the magic tractor? It drove down the lane and turned into a field. Think about it.”

 

Esca’s mouth fell open but he didn’t say anything, just gaped at the moron standing in front of him. Then he shook his head and walked away but Marcus was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of a smile.

 

It was better than nothing.

 

 

Marcus dropped off the car to a grateful Guern and checked his phone, pretty sure he knew who’d been calling and texting him all afternoon. Right enough, it was mostly Placidus asking where the hell he was and a couple of texts from Drusillus telling him he was needed at the lock-up. What he really wanted to do was go home, have a couple of beers and wank until he was cross-eyed, while he thought about Esca in his oily mechanic overalls. Instead Marcus made his way to the lock-up, remembering for the first time in a while to stay aware of his environment and watch for trouble, reminding himself that he’d been taking too many risks recently. 

 

The lock-up was pretty full when he got there, guys milling around, a pile of easily concealed weapons stacked on a crate by the door.

 

“Well, look who it is.” Placidus glared at him. It seemed like everybody wanted to glare at him these days. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”

 

“I’ve been busy.”

 

“Too busy to hang out with us? You’ve got responsibilities, you know.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve also got a job,” Marcus pointed out.

 

“Yeah?” Placidus got in his face, sneering as if having a job was as much of a disgrace as admitting to wearing women’s underwear. “Well quit your fucking job and get your priorities right! While you were busy doing your bit for the economy, the Seals have carried on coming down here and rubbing our noses in it. They beat the shit out of Hilarion and landed him in the hospital.”

 

“Shit.” As much as he wanted out, Marcus felt angry with himself for having spent so much time hanging around Esca like a horny schoolboy while his friends were in trouble. “When?”

 

“This morning, in broad daylight! Don’t you bother answering your phone any more?”

 

“I told you, I was busy. I’m sorry.”

 

“We’ve been out looking for them but they’re like ghosts.” Placidus ignored the apology and got straight down to business. “They pop up all over the place then just disappear. Drusillus and Lutorius are out looking for them right now and if they see them, they’ll text and we’ll be ready to go and show those freaks what they’re up against.”

 

Less than an hour later, after a text from Drusillus had advised where the Seals were gathering, Marcus and the other Romans were facing them across another of the endless drab concrete squares that littered this part of the city. They were all aware that a fight this size would bring the police quickly and there were no words of challenge, no attempts to get the enemy to back down; they all knew that the time for posturing was over. This time blood was going to be spilled, and fast.

 

From across the square, one of the Seals gave a loud whooping cry and that was that. The two sides rushed at each other and came together in a vicious clash of bodies. Knives, clubs, iron bars, baseball bats, fists, feet – every weapon from both sides rained down on an opponent. Within a few minutes there were already bodies littering the ground, some rolling around in pain, others lying still. Marcus could smell the faint coppery scent of blood in the air as he fought, his senses focused now on nothing but fighting. This wasn’t like fighting the Brigantes, game but outnumbered and on the back foot. The Seals were vicious and relentless and Marcus felt something a lot like panic starting to rise in his throat at the onslaught. He swallowed it down and grabbed a Seal, stunning him with a well-aimed head-butt. Marcus whipped his head around to try and see what was going on around him but a sudden agonising pain in his knee stopped him. He dropped onto his other knee and another wave of pain hit him as something solid slammed across his shoulders. Unable to get back on his feet and begin defending himself, he saw a knife discarded on the ground within reach and he grabbed it, swinging around to drive it hard into the leg of the Seal who had attacked him. The Seal opened his mouth and screamed but Marcus hardly heard it amidst the racket going on around him. Clutching at his thigh, the wounded Seal stumbled forward against Marcus, knocking him flat. Two or three other guys, intent on fighting each other, tripped over them and landed heavily on top of them, still grappling and trading blows. Marcus tried to push his way out of the pile but he could hardly move until he felt the weight on top of him lessen and he was being dragged up onto his feet. He saw Drusillus, blood streaming down his face but there was no time to ask if he was ok. If he was upright and still fighting then he was ok.

 

His knee held as he put weight on it and, realising he was still holding the knife, Marcus thrust his arm out as hard as he could, catching another Seal in the side and causing him to double over with an audible and painful “oomph”, the knife still sticking out of him as Marcus let go of it. Another one came at him, howling like a lunatic but he was taken out by Lutorius and Marcus had a chance to catch his breath and get his bearings. His knee throbbed and his foot felt almost numb but he managed to stay upright, throwing punches and kicking a few Mohican-adorned heads.

 

Once again the faint howl of sirens abruptly halted the chaos, Seals and Romans breaking apart and regrouping, dragging their injured with them, still hurling insults, bottles and anything else they could find at each other. As the sirens grew louder and the two sides still faced each other defiantly, Marcus recognised a couple of the Seals who had attacked Esca beside their leader, Liathan. Liathan was staring hard at him, then he straightened out his arm and smiled as he made a gesture of firing a gun at Marcus with his fingers.

 

Nobody else. Just Marcus.

 

 

The lock-up resembled the field hospitals Marcus had seen in photographs at the museum and on various TV documentaries. The Romans had taken a lot of injuries but so had the Seals and both gangs had carried away a good few incapacitated members in the rush to avoid the police. Marcus helped to patch up a couple of the others as best he could with the supplies they had while Placidus did what he did best and phoned his dad to take care of the guys who needed a bit more medical attention.

 

Satisfied that no-one was about to drop dead, Marcus slowly and painfully pulled off his hoodie and his t-shirt and let Drusillus check him for wounds.

 

“Nasty looking bruise over a shoulder blade, nothing else,” Drusillus informed him. “Probably a baseball bat or something.”

 

Marcus stretched, feeling muscles and joints cracking, his face screwed up in discomfort. “Hurts like fuck.” He lowered himself gingerly into his favourite chair and looked down at his knee, relieved that his jeans were bloodied but intact, no tell-tale hole in the material from a knife. A thought flitted across his mind about the Seals he’d knifed but he didn’t spare them much time. If you fought with a gang, potentially serious injury came with the territory and they’d have stabbed him without a thought if they’d had the chance. Marcus carefully rolled up the leg of his jeans to have a closer look at his knee. An angry blue and black bruise had already bloomed across the side of it and down towards his calf, a couple of inches of skin raggedly broken by the impact of whatever had hit him. Another scar to add to all the others. The skin on his knuckles was torn but not badly and he made a fist with each hand then stretched out his fingers, happy that nothing felt too painful.

 

As he sat back in the chair and let his aching body rest, his thoughts turned to Esca. He wondered how badly Esca had been hurt after the beating he’d got from the Seals. He’d seemed ok at the garage but Marcus suspected there had to be a lot of bruising under the overalls. Was he covered in scars from past fights or was he was nimble enough to avoid letting opponents make too much contact? Marcus had never seen him take a big hit except for the day he’d been ambushed and he closed his eyes and let his imagination take him on a tour of Esca’s body, picturing his skin as unblemished by scars or bruises. His own pains faded as he imagined Esca’s skin under his fingers, warm and smooth but Drusillus’ voice cut into the fantasy.

 

“What the hell have you got to be so happy about?” 

 

Marcus opened one eye and squinted up at him. “Just glad to be alive.”

 

“Bollocks! You asked that waitress out yet?”

 

“I’m eh, still working on it.”

 

“Jesus, M, have you lost your touch? They’re normally falling over themselves to have a go at you.”

 

“If something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly.” And Esca was surely worth doing properly. Marcus focused on the crookedly applied butterfly strips which were holding Drusillus’ eyebrow together as a familiar throb in his crotch threatened to humiliate him. “I’m just taking my time.”

 

“Don’t take too long or someone else might get in there before you.” Drusillus winked at him and his eyebrow started to bleed again. “Oh fuck.” He reached up and then stared ruefully at his bloody fingers. “Lutorius?” he bellowed. “You’re a fucking crap nurse!”

 

 

Two days later, Marcus was back at the café. Two days where his resolve to pursue Esca had only strengthened and his nightly fantasies had become more intense; two days where he’d been plagued by a feeling that someone was tailing him wherever he went. He never saw anyone though, no matter how long he watched and waited, and he wondered whether Esca was getting his own back.

 

“Hello stranger,” quipped the waitress, already pouring some coffee into a mug for him. “I was beginning to think you’d met with a sticky end.” She winked at him.

 

“Not yet,” he replied, winking back at her, “but I’m working on it.” She handed him the coffee as he reached into his pocket and counted out some money. “Thanks.” 

 

He’d only just sat down when the door opened and he looked up to see Esca sitting down opposite him, cocking his head to one side and fixing Marcus with a look that spoke of humour, annoyance and everything in between.

 

“You don’t give up, do you,” he said eventually.

 

“Not when I want something, no.” 

 

Esca reached across and grabbed Marcus’ coffee, taking a mouthful. “I heard you guys and the Seals had a pretty nasty disagreement,” he added, sliding what was left of the coffee back across the table.

 

“Probably the first of many.” Marcus felt his knee and everything else that had been hurt in the fight protest at the memory. “They can’t just walk in and think they can take over.”

 

“What, like you lot did?” A hard edge crept into Esca’s voice but the expression on his face stayed the same. No familiar scowl this time. “What goes around, comes around.”

 

Marcus looked down at his hands, unwilling to look at Esca as unexpected guilt hit him in the gut. He was right, of course; that was exactly what the Romans had done, moved in from another part of the city and pushed the Brigantes out. Marcus closed his eyes and tried to drown out the voice in his head that was loudly reminding him it was time to break away and start over.

 

Esca leaned in towards him, seemingly happy that his comment had hit its mark and now wanting to address Marcus’ initial statement. “So what is it that you think you want,” he asked, “or is it a big secret?”

 

Marcus looked up, a hundred replies running through his head but nothing he could actually form into words that made sense. Esca waited then huffed out a bitter laugh and sat back, the curiosity on his face now replaced by disdain and Marcus watched as he got up, scraping the legs of his chair loudly across the floor. 

 

“Do you like museums?”

 

“What?” Whatever Esca had been expecting, it obviously hadn’t been that. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his tousled mop of hair.

 

“Do. You. Like. Museums,” Marcus repeated slowly. 

 

Esca shrugged. “S’pose. When I was a kid.”

 

“I want to show you around the Museum of Military History.”

 

“What the fuck for?”

 

“So I can show you some of the stuff.”

 

“You don’t know anything about me. What makes you think I’d like it?”

 

“Well, that was the whole point of me asking whether you like museums. Remember that?”

 

Esca narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re insane. You and me shouldn’t even be talking.” His eyes flicked across Marcus’ face to his mouth and Marcus deliberately licked his lips, something in his chest tightening as Esca’s eyes lingered. “You’re the enemy and we have nothing in common.”

 

“Maybe we’re more alike than you realise.” Marcus didn’t like talking in riddles but he still had to be careful that his dick wasn’t leading him into a trap, no matter the signals he imagined Esca was giving him. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not interested,” he said softly, daring Esca to interpret that statement any way he wanted.

 

Esca stared hard at him then the angles of his face seemed to soften a little and he glanced around, as if he wanted to make sure nobody else in the café was listening before he answered. 

 

“Ok,” he said, still managing to look suspicious and a little disgusted with himself. When?”

 

 

Marcus waited in some degree of anxiety for Esca to turn up, pacing around the museum lobby and thinking up a thousand reasons why this was a ridiculous situation to find himself in and that no doubt, instead of just Esca, the museum would likely be besieged by the Brigantes in full, all of them out to get the lone Roman who’d been stupid enough to advertise where he’d be. Esca was alone when he arrived however, catching Marcus’ eye from the doorway before sauntering over. He looked wary, deliberately keeping more than an arm’s length away from Marcus, his hands stuffed down deep into the pockets of his oversized grey hoodie. 

 

“Hi.” Marcus silently and sarcastically congratulated himself on his conversational skills as Esca merely tilted his chin in greeting. A few visitors to the museum drifted past them, children chattering excitedly at the prospect of seeing big guns and hearing gory tales of battles.

 

“So,” Esca drawled after a drawn-out, awkward silence between them, “when does the tour start? This better be good, you know. I’ve got better things I could be doing than trailing around some dusty old pile of crap with you.”

 

“But you came anyway.”

 

Esca just shrugged and pulled a face, doing his best to appear disinterested. He followed Marcus to the nearest exhibit hall, cautiously looking around.

 

“Why did you want to come here?” he asked, apparently forgetting that he was trying to look like he didn’t really care. “Do you like all this stuff?”

 

Marcus smiled at him in an attempt to make the whole thing less like pulling teeth. “Yeah. I work here. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been interested in military history. I wanted to join the army when I was younger but this seemed like the next best thing.”

 

“How come you never joined up?” Esca crouched down to take a closer look at one of the exhibits but Marcus could see that he was watching him out of the corner of an eye. “They’ll take anyone,” he added, still testing the waters to see how far he could push.

 

Marcus ignored it and shrugged his shoulders. “Just never happened.” He changed the subject, not wanting to try and explain something he had no explanation for. Misguided loyalty? Fate? His dad’s ghost looming over him? He didn’t know and he didn’t want to think about it. It was like he said; just never happened. “What about you? What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

 

“Train,” Esca mumbled as he stood up straight and wandered off towards a glass cabinet full of medals from the Great War.

 

Marcus followed him. “You wanted to drive trains?”

 

“No, I wanted to _be_ a train.” Esca looked up at him as Marcus stifled a laugh. “What! I was a child!” For the first time since he’d arrived, he let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. 

 

They wandered from one display to another, Marcus pointing out snippets of information he thought might be interesting and trying hard not to appear too desperate. He wasn’t normally this nervous but everything about Esca put him in a heightened state of awareness. He wanted to know more about him but Esca didn’t say much, just mooched around the exhibits, arching an occasional eyebrow at Marcus in response to his commentary, happy to let Marcus make small-talk. 

 

“There’s a kid that hangs around with you sometimes,” he said, as they pored over a diorama of the Battle of Bosworth Field. “Looks like you. Is he your brother?”

 

“Do you mean Struan?” Esca asked. “No, not officially anyway. He kind of adopted me cos his family are a waste of space.”

 

“You really do look alike.”

 

“Only from a distance.” Esca deliberately picked up one of the models from the diorama in front of a sign which quite clearly read _Please Do Not Touch The Exhibits_ , shooting a mildly defiant look at Marcus. 

 

Marcus ignored it. “Have you got any family?” he asked.

 

“Nope. You?”

 

Marcus shook his head. “Just me.”

 

“Is that why you hang around with that bunch of losers?” Esca dipped his head but looked up at Marcus through his eyelashes, a look that made him resemble a mischievous schoolboy. It was a look nobody could have failed to find irresistible.

 

“Ok, here’s the deal. You don’t badmouth my guys, I don’t badmouth yours. Deal?”

 

Esca cocked his head to one side and smiled, his gradual thawing apparently now complete. “Deal.”

 

They spent another hour wandering around the museum, chatting about nothing in particular, Marcus still playing tour guide and Esca now asking a few questions but only about the items on display, nothing personal. It felt right somehow, being with Esca like this; comfortable, like they’d known each other for years and were used to existing in easy harmony. A couple of times Marcus was caught out looking at Esca instead of the exhibits but he was aware of Esca watching him too, those clear, intelligent eyes less suspicious now and showing more of what Marcus hoped was the same interest he felt. Finally though, despite having gone round less than half the museum, Esca announced that he had to go and they headed back to the entrance hall, lingering by the doors.

 

“So,” Esca mumbled, shuffling his feet and chewing at one of his fingernails. “I never said thanks for helping me out that day with the Seals.”

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

Esca looked away, apparently uncomfortable about thanking a Roman for anything. He started off down the steps and Marcus followed him, reluctant to lose the chance of a final few minutes in his company. 

 

“I’m glad you came,” he said as they reached street level, his mind frantically trying to think of witty and interesting things to say so that Esca might stay just a little bit longer.

 

“I almost didn’t. Figured maybe this was all part of some elaborate trap.”

 

They both turned towards a commotion further down the street where a middle-aged couple were complaining loudly about someone pushing past in their haste to get around the corner. Marcus watched the unfolding scene and frowned.

 

“What’s up?” Esca asked.

 

“It’s nothing. I just keep feeling recently like somebody’s been watching me.”

 

“What, like some creepy stalker’s hanging around the place you work? Imagine that!”

 

“Point taken,” Marcus agreed, laughing nervously as he steeled himself for what he wanted to say next. “So, do you maybe want to meet up again sometime?”

 

“What for?”

 

Marcus shrugged his shoulders and made a non-committal grunt in reply, his internal self unleashing yet another sarcastic, slow hand clap for managing to sweep Esca off his feet with his unrivalled conversational skills.

 

“Maybe,” Esca said after an awkward silence, staring down at his boots, anywhere but at Marcus.

 

“We don’t have to.” The slow clapping sound in his head grew louder.

 

“No, it’s ok. I don’t think you’d have gone to all this trouble if you just wanted to be a jerk.” Esca’s eyes flicked appreciatively over him for a fraction of a second and Marcus had to make a huge effort not to puff out his chest. Esca was definitely checking him out. Definitely. Maybe. “You seem ok.” Ok normal or ok hot, Marcus wanted to ask but he managed to hold the words at bay.

 

“If I had your number I could call you or text,” he said instead.

 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Esca thought it over then took out his phone. “And you could give me yours so I know who it is. I don’t want to open a text from you in front of anyone who might want to know what the fuck I’m doing getting a message from a Roman.”

 

They exchanged numbers, Esca insisting that they gave each other girls’ names as cover, just in case, so Marcus found himself typing in the details of his new friend Murna while Esca announced without a hint of sarcasm that Marcus was now Camilla, winking at him before walking off down the street and leaving Marcus staring after him. 

 

This was all going so much better than he’d expected and for the first time he felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps his life really was about to change.

 

 

Marcus waited for what he felt was a reasonable amount of time before sending Esca/Murna a text; nothing too much, just a _Hi, how’s things?_ Then he fretted over whether he hadn’t left it long enough. Was a day enough time? He started to wander around his flat, picking things up, putting them down, TV on, TV off until finally he forced himself to sit down on the sofa and take a deep breath. This whole Esca thing had him on edge. 

 

He took out his phone and placed it on the battered wooden coffee table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupped over his nose and mouth. He stared at the phone, willing it to vibrate with an incoming message that wasn’t either Drusillus imparting gory details of the latest girl he’d shagged or Placidus demanding his presence at the lock-up. Nothing happened. The phone lay on the table, mocking him with its silence. Marcus sat back and let out a long, loud sigh then picked up a magazine he’d discarded a couple of days ago. He turned to the article that had caught his attention, the reason he’d kept the magazine; an article about a man who’d quit his job, sold all his belongings and moved his family to a smallholding in a remote part of Wales. Marcus scanned the pictures that accompanied the story; the white-washed cottage with neatly planted vegetable beds, a few chickens being herded by the guy’s laughing kids, the rolling fields and mountains that surrounded the idyllic scenes. Ok, so it was all a bit too idyllic and probably boring as hell but it just reinforced the itch Marcus felt to get out of the city and find a place he could start over. Be happy. Safe.

 

Marcus closed his eyes and let his imagination run wild but he didn’t get far before his phone finally put him out of his misery and vibrated. It had to be Esca. It had to be.

 

It was.

 

_Same shit, different day. What you up to?_

_Nothing much. Want to hang out?_

_Maybe. Where?_

Marcus tapped out two words but hesitated before hitting the send button. He’d seen the way Esca checked him out at the museum and he was pretty sure they were singing from the same song-sheet. _My place?_

He’d known that it was a risk, that he might scare Esca off by being too full-on and it was an hour before he received a reply. An hour where he struggled not to pick up the phone and call Esca to tell him that there was no sinister motive to the offer, that if he just wanted to come round and have a beer then that was ok. Probably better not add that if he wanted to come round and get naked and fuck like bunnies, then that was ok too. 

 

_Ok. Text me your address._

As soon as he’d done it, a cautionary voice in Marcus’ head scolded him for so readily revealing where he lived but it was too late now and he busied himself tidying up. In another hour, he was opening his front door and letting Esca into his home.

 

“Hi,” he said, taking a quick look out onto the landing to make sure no-one was there, kicking himself for the stupidity of not checking who was at the door before opening it. He needed to focus more on what was happening around him. “You made it.”

 

“Looks that way.”

 

“No trouble?”

 

“Nope. Nobody’s got any reason to be suspicious, stop worrying.” Esca dropped his tatty canvas shoulder bag onto the floor and looked around the tiny flat. “You live on your own?”

 

“Yep” Marcus spread his arms out. “It’s not much but it’s home.”

 

Esca seemed quite impressed. “Better than the shit-hole I live in,” he said. “No way I would’ve taken you there.”

 

Marcus thought of the grim run-down tower block he’d staked out while waiting for a chance to follow Esca. “Probably best if you keep coming here,” he agreed. He caught the way Esca’s eyebrows rose at the presumption they were going to keep meeting. “If you want to, that is. We can hang out without anybody knowing. It’s far enough away from……” Marcus bit his lip to stop himself from talking. This really wasn’t the time to bring up the issue of gang territory. “You hungry?”

 

“What you got?” Esca quirked a smile at him.

 

They sat next to each other in comfortable silence like old friends, eating pizza and drinking beer while watching TV. Marcus thought about the time he’d sat there hoping that Esca would turn out to be nothing more than a moronic Brigantes who’d been good for a few fantasies but was easily forgotten, and smiled to himself; turned out Esca was smart and funny and quick-witted and he was already halfway to being hooked. When he went to the fridge to get them both another beer, Marcus rested his forehead against the kitchen wall and took a deep breath, promising himself sternly that he wasn’t going to get too involved. Why the hell did he have to go and start chasing someone at the same time as he decided to start thinking about leaving? His number one priority _had_ to be staying alive long enough to get out of the city. Whatever happened with Esca, he couldn’t afford to forget that. Follow your head over your heart if you want to survive, he remembered his dad saying. Fat lot of good it had done him. Thing was, Marcus wasn’t really sure that his heart had anything to do with this, but his cock sure as hell did.

 

He took the beers and dropped onto the sofa next to Esca who murmured his thanks but didn’t lift his eyes away from the latest episode of Top Gear. They both reached for the last piece of pizza without looking and ended up grabbing each others hands. Their eyes met briefly, both a little uncomfortable at first then smiling awkwardly.

 

“Sorry,” Esca said. “Shouldn’t have presumed.”

 

“No, it’s ok. You have it. My mum would’ve clipped me over the ears for my bad manners if she’d been here.”

 

Esca picked up the pizza and split it, holding out one of the roughly torn halves to Marcus. “It’s only fair,” he mumbled, stuffing the other half into his mouth. 

 

They both turned back to look at the TV screen but Marcus was acutely aware of how close he was to Esca, every fibre of him wanting to reach out and touch. Just thinking about it made the tingling feeling in his gut bloom into a full-on wave of heat that spread up to his chest and down into his groin, his cock starting to slowly fill. It had been too long since he’d been in this situation with someone he wanted, way too long if this was how he was reacting just by sitting together. Marcus discreetly pushed the heel of his hand into his crotch, hard enough to try and stem the flow of blood. He shifted, trying to put some distance between them without being too obvious but out the corner of his eye he saw Esca’s head turn and look at him for a moment and he hoped that his jeans were baggy enough to hide what was happening. 

 

 

It was way past midnight when Esca decided to leave and Marcus walked with him down the stairs to the outer door of the building, making a quick scan of the quiet street outside.

 

“Do you want me to walk part of the way with you?” he asked, not stopping to think how it sounded. 

 

Esca looked incredulous and not best pleased. “I’m not a child and I’m not your girlfriend,” he said, the atmosphere between them instantly changing from relaxed to strained. “You don’t have to keep playing the hero.”

 

“I’m not.” Marcus wanted to diffuse the tension as quickly as he could. “We just need to be careful out there. You never know who’s waiting.”

 

“You think I can’t look out for myself or outrun someone if I have to?” Esca snarled.

 

“What,” Marcus snapped angrily, forgetting about playing nice, “like you did that day the Seals were beating the crap out of you!”

 

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

 

“Yeah and you’d be dead without me!”

 

Esca stared daggers at him before a slow smile crept across his face. “I was distracted, thinking about other stuff. If I’d been paying attention, no way they would’ve got me.”

 

“Yeah?” Marcus felt dizzy with the speed with which they spun from friendly to angry and back again.

 

“Uh huh.”

 

The threat of confrontation died away as quickly as it had risen and they stood facing each other, Marcus outside on the street while Esca was still in the doorway on a higher step so they were pretty much at a level height. They stared at each other for a moment, Esca’s face inscrutable as Marcus struggled with the urge to grab him and kiss him hard enough to split his lip.

 

“What are you waiting for, an invitation?”

 

“Huh?” His mind fogged by rapidly rising lust, Marcus thought maybe he’d missed part of the conversation.

 

“You went to all the trouble of following me and persuading me to hang out with you but you won’t just come out with it and ask for what you really want.” Esca let his gaze drift down to Marcus’ mouth and back up to his eyes. “I mean, this was all for a specific purpose, right?”

 

“Which is?” Marcus felt blind-sided by the way Esca blew hot and cold at the drop of a hat.

 

“What’s the point of not saying it like it is? We could both be dead this time tomorrow. Life’s shit like that.” Apparently he wasn’t one for the thrill of the chase. “You followed me cos you were interested and maybe I’m interested too.” 

 

He fixed Marcus with a fierce stare that was both challenge and invitation, his mouth set in a hard line and his head held high in the determined set that had drawn Marcus to him in the first place and all Marcus could do was agree with him.

 

“Ok, yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve been thinking about you for a while and I wanted to do something about it.”

 

“I knew it. You’re so transparent.”

 

“I am not!” Marcus thought about all the effort he’d put into being subtle, never saying anything that couldn’t be explained away as something else more innocent.

 

“No? So the hard-on you were doing your best to try and hide earlier was just an optical illusion was it?”

 

All Marcus could do was let out a weary sigh and shrug his shoulders meekly, allowing a weary smile to settle on his face.

 

Esca grinned and started to laugh. “There you go. It’s that simple and now everybody knows where they stand.”

 

“Yeah.”

                                                        

“What can I say, you have good taste. All you needed was a little encouragement.”

 

Ok, if Esca wanted to be upfront about all this then Marcus could do that. No way was he going to let anyone completely get the better of him. He was a Roman, and the Romans had pride.

 

“So,” he said, jutting his chin out in a reflection of Esca’s. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodnight?”

 

A wicked smile spread slowly across Esca’s face as, without hesitation, he leaned in and parted his lips slightly but at the last minute he diverted away from Marcus’ mouth and pressed his lips to the hollow at the base of Marcus’ throat. Marcus heard his breath hitch at the unexpected kiss as his pulse roared in his ears.

 

“Good night,” Esca murmured against his neck. Then he was gone.

 

 

Drusillus dealt the guy he was sparring with a wicked right hook that had Marcus, Guern and the few others watching them in the boxing ring cheering loudly. He’d turned out to be a pretty good boxer after Marcus had finally persuaded him to ask Guern for a go in the ring, tearing strips off most of his opponents with his boundless energy and his love of a good punch-up. Marcus felt ridiculously proud of him. He yelled more encouragement and then clapped wildly as Drusillus’ hapless victim landed heavily on the canvas and Guern decided that enough was enough.

 

As Drusillus skipped around the ring with his arms aloft, as if he’d won a prize fight instead of knocking someone down in a training bout, Marcus saw Guern slip out the rear door and followed him out, hoping to talk some things over with him. He’d started thinking in earnest about where he could go when he finally managed to pack his bags and make his break but he’d decided to wait until this thing with the Seals was resolved before leaving; he owed it to the guys to stick around until the threat was over. He’d already started to get together as much cash as he could lay his hands on, emptying his account, selling a few things, calling in a few small debts, always ready with a story in case anyone asked why. It wasn’t much but it was a start. He found that whenever he started to think about the future though, images of Esca would thread their way into the daydreaming and confuse the issue.

 

He made his way outside to the yard and found Guern having a sly cigarette.

 

“Busted.”

 

“Shit!” Guern’s head whipped around and he automatically tried to hide the cigarette behind his back before he saw who it was. “It’s a free country,” he grumbled. “You ok? You look a bit preoccupied today.”

 

“Busy, that’s all.”

 

“Busy playing with fire.”

 

“No lectures today, ok? I’ve just got some stuff on my mind.”

 

“Hmmm. How are things with you and Mr MacCunoval?”

 

“Seriously?” Marcus couldn’t disguise the shock in his voice. “Have you got a sideline in reading minds now?”

 

“So I’m right.” Guern took a long draw on his cigarette and tossed the butt away, blowing a long stream of smoke out through his nostrils. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I just added the pieces together then took a wild stab at the answer. You asked me about him a while back, wanted to know his name. Why, unless you had a specific reason for being interested in him. And you took my car to him.”

 

“It was just a random garage I’d heard good things about.”

 

“Where Esca MacCunoval just happened to work. He signed the receipt, Marcus.”

 

Marcus sighed and banged his forehead against the wall a couple of times. Guern just ignored him and carried on.

 

“So what’s happening with him? You win him over yet?”

 

“Maybe.” Marcus paused for a moment. “That’s the problem. I didn’t really think it through, you know? I didn’t really expect him to agree to have anything to do with me and now he has, I’m kind of….”

 

“Anxious? Excited?”

 

“Yeah, all that. Do you know what it’s like when you really want something and then when you get it you don’t really know what to do with it?”

 

Guern wiggled his eyebrows. “Would you like me to draw you a picture?”

 

“Very funny.” Marcus shot him a withering look. “That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to get to know him and hopefully find out that he was a prat, just another fucking Brigantes I couldn’t care less about. I promised myself I wouldn’t get too involved.”

 

“And are you involved?”

 

“He kissed me last night. Kind of.”

 

“Kind of?”

 

Marcus covered his face with his hands and leaned back against the wall. “I can’t believe I’m telling you all this.”

 

“You’re telling me because most people can’t keep it inside when they meet someone who makes their heart beat a little faster.”

 

“Jesus,” Marcus grumbled. “You ever thought about writing poetry for a living?”

 

“Jut because you spend your spare time kicking the shit out of your fellow man, doesn’t mean you’re immune to any of this.”

 

“So what do I do? Stay and see how things work out? Leave and always wonder, what if?”

 

“You’re the only one who can answer that.” Guern patted him on the back. “Do yourself a favour and enjoy it while it lasts but don’t wait too long.”

 

“I can’t leave right now, not the way things are. Not if the Seals are serious.”

 

“I guarantee you, they’re serious. Be careful though, Marcus. If you really want out, don’t wait too long.”

 

“Yeah, I hear you but you know how it is. I’m kind of between a rock and several hard places.” He gave Guern a half-hearted grin but Guern had his serious face on. “And I’m kind of curious to see where this thing with Esca goes.”

 

“So,” Guern drawled, rolling his eyes, “now it turns out that you’ve already decided what you’re going to do, what’s your next move?”

 

Once again, Esca had wormed his way into Marcus’ thoughts and an idea popped into his head. “Can I borrow your car sometime?” he asked. “I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”

 

“Do I look like your fairy godmother?”

 

“Come on, old man. I’ve borrowed it before and always brought it back in one piece. And I got it fixed for you.”

 

“Ok, ok.” Guern rolled his eyes again. “I don’t have any plans any time soon so just let me know when and you can have it.”

 

They headed back inside and Marcus waited around until Drusillus was ready, wondering if he was up for hanging out for a while but he had other plans so Marcus decided to head home instead of seeing if anything was happening at the lock-up.

 

“Hey, Marcus!” Marcus turned back as he was leaving and instinctively caught whatever it was that Guern had thrown at him. A condom. He quickly stuffed it in his pocket in case anyone saw and shot Guern a look that would have turned a lesser man to stone. “Just in case.”

 

He flipped Guern the finger and left. Once outside he pulled up his hood against the thin veil of rain that was now falling and rang Esca, his stomach flipping nervously when he picked up with a perky sounding “Hey, bitch!”

“Hey yourself, _Murna._ I am nobody’s bitch.” Marcus jogged across the road and made his way down towards the canal. “When’s your next free day?”

 

Esca hesitated. “Thursday, why?”

 

“Thursday’s good. Just meet me outside the church on Chester Street, 10am. We’re going somewhere for the day.”

 

“Where? Maybe I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

 

Marcus could picture him on the other end of the phone, chin jutting out in that defiant manner of his, set to his default attitude of ‘challenge’.

 

“I’ll see you Thursday.” He ended the call before Esca had a chance to argue and whistled a tune as he walked along the tow path with a spring in his step and a hundred ideas circulating around inside his head. It was a sound like a branch snapping somewhere behind him that made him stop in his tracks and turn sharply, his senses immediately alert. The tow path was empty but his heart was thumping as he waited to see if anyone appeared. Nobody did and everything was quiet but Marcus reached into his pocket anyway to feel the reassuring weight of the knife he now carried and then he jogged the rest of the way home.

 

 

Placidus was keeping things close to his chest but Marcus knew something was up from the way he was fidgeting, a barely concealed smirk occasionally breaking out on his face. He was waiting for someone to contact him, that much was obvious; his phone was clutched in his hand as if he was trying to will it to give him what he wanted.

 

Eventually it did. 

 

“They’re on their way,” he declared to anyone who was listening, jumping up out of his chair. “They got one!”

 

“Got one?” Marcus looked around at the others in the lock-up, noticing how some of the guys perked up excitedly. “Got what exactly?”

 

Placidus stared at him coldly. “A Seal. I’ve been keeping tabs on where they come over the river. They’ve been coming across at different areas in small groups and regrouping on this side so I sent some of the lads up to wait for them by one of the bridges. They ambushed a group of about six or seven and managed to grab one to bring back here.”

 

Alarm bells started ringing in Marcus’ head and his heart lurched uncomfortably. “What the fuck are we going to do with a Seal here?”

 

“Stop worrying,” Placidus said impatiently. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

Marcus spotted Drusillus and grabbed him, pulling him away from the others so they could talk. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked, keeping his voice low. There was no point in letting all the others know just how far out of the loop he was these days. “I thought you were going to keep me up to date about stuff.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, it was Placidus.” Drusillus seemed genuinely contrite and Marcus was pretty sure he knew what had happened.

 

“Did he tell you not to let me know?”

 

“He said that you’d probably try and stop him so I should keep my mouth shut. He only told us about this last night. A couple of the guys asked where you were and Placidus just told them you were busy with other stuff and that he’d tell you himself later, that they weren’t to bother you.”

 

“Except he never did and now it’s too late for me to try and talk some sense into him. Shit!”

 

“Maybe it’s not such a dumb idea,” Drusillus said hopefully. “We can hit them where it hurts. I mean, look what they did to Hilarion. We’re lucky he’s not dead.”

 

“I don’t know.” Marcus felt a sudden urge to hit something, anger welling up inside him. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

 

He didn’t have much longer to think about the consequences of Placidus’ actions before the scouting party arrived in a van and hustled their captive into the lock-up, already beaten half senseless, a hood over his head and his hands tied behind his back. They dragged him through the crowd and threw him down onto the floor in front of Placidus, who walked around him and gave him a couple of sharp jabs with a baseball bat.

 

“Your mates aren’t going to come and rescue you. You know that, right?” Placidus gestured to Galba who stepped forward and pulled the hood off the Seal’s head, hoisting him up onto his knees. The Seal glared defiantly up at Placidus through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.

 

“Do your worst,” he spat. “You’re all dead men, trust me.”

 

Placidus gripped the bat with both hands and swung it hard and fast, catching the Seal on his arm and sending him tumbling. “That’s for thinking you can come into our territory. And this one is for Hilarion. He sends his regards.” Galba yanked the Seal back up onto his knees and the next swing of the bat caught the Seal on the side of his head, knocking him out.

 

“What are we going to do with him?” someone asked from the crowd of cheering Romans.

 

“We need to send them a message, loud and clear.” There was a roar of universal agreement at that.

 

“Are we going to let him go?” someone else asked.

 

“No,” Placidus said. “We’re going to make sure there’s one less Seal in the world.”

 

A ripple of murmured responses spread around the lock-up, some still in excited agreement, others less so when they grasped his meaning.

 

“Marcus?” Lutorius asked warily. “What do you think?”

 

“Marcus isn’t in charge!” Placidus snapped. “I am! It’s up to me what happens to this piece of shit.” He poked at the unconscious Seal with his boot. “My dad says the Seals don’t think twice about killing people and dumping them in the river. I say we give this fucker a taste of his own medicine.”

 

Several faces were turned towards Marcus, waiting for him to say something but he knew it was pointless trying to argue. Placidus had counted on him not finding out until it was too late and it had worked.

 

“He’s right,” Marcus said eventually. “We can’t just let him go.” They couldn’t show any weakness, not now or the battle would be over before it had really started. The Seal was a threat and his fate was inevitable. He’d been a dead man as soon as he’d been grabbed earlier, long before Marcus even knew about it. “They took out Hilarion. We need to send them a louder, clearer message than the one they sent us.”

 

Placidus smirked and indicated with a nod of his head for Marcus to follow him while the others all started talking amongst themselves about what was going to happen. 

 

“Do you want to do it?” Placidus asked, still smirking, his eyes gleaming with excitement but whether it was from bloodlust or getting one over on him Marcus couldn’t be sure.

 

He shook his head. “I don’t want any part of it.”

 

“Hey!” Placidus hissed, grabbing Marcus’ arm as he turned away. “You’re already a part of this. Don’t forget that.”

 

Marcus pulled his arm free and gave Placidus his best glare, putting all the contempt he felt for the guy into it then he left the lock-up, frustrated and more anxious than he should be over the fate of an enemy.

 

 

Just after 10am on Thursday morning Marcus pulled up outside the church on Chester Street and Esca slid in beside him.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“It’s a surprise.”

 

“Oooh, a surprise!”

 

Marcus smiled and rolled his eyes at Esca’s mockery. “Just keep your head down until we get out of town.”

 

“Good enough?” Esca asked as he slumped down in the passenger seat.

 

Marcus glanced over and grinned at him. “Just as well you’re not six feet tall or you’d be a lot more difficult to hide.”

 

“You’re paranoid, you know that? Nobody’s watching us.” Esca grinned back at him and curled up into the seat anyway. “Wake me up when we get there.” 

 

Marcus pulled out into the traffic, thinking about what Esca had said. Maybe the Seals _were_ keeping tabs on the competition. His skin prickled as he thought of the times he’d had a feeling he was being watched but nothing had ever happened and there had been plenty of opportunity for somebody if they’d just wanted to jump him on his own, a sitting duck. No, Esca was probably right. He was just being paranoid. Another reason to ditch this life as soon as he could; something else for him to try and forget about.

 

They drove on and as soon as the tower blocks and endless drab streets started to thin out, Marcus poked Esca in the ribs to wake him up. “If you’re that tired, you might want to consider going to bed at night.”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he replied. “Neighbours kept me up all night, screaming and throwing stuff.”

 

“You should move to a better neighbourhood.”

 

Esca yawned loudly and stretched his arms as best he could in the car. “I’m just waiting for a huge cheque to arrive in the post then I’ll be buying myself a mansion in the posh end of town.” He stared out of the window as drab grey turned to various shades of green and they drove on through the countryside. “Where are we going?” he asked again.

 

“Somewhere I used to go when I was a kid. My mum used to take me there sometimes.” Marcus looked across at him. “You’ll like it.”

 

A few minutes later and Esca was singing along to the radio under his breath so Marcus turned up the volume, doing his best to remember the words and soon they were both singing at the tops of their voices to whatever song came on. They occasionally glimpsed the river as they followed its course upstream and finally they came to the small parking area that Marcus remembered from the times he used to go there with his mum on sunny weekends.

 

Esca glanced over at him as they parked up. “So what’s here then?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“Nothing,” Marcus replied. “That’s the whole point.”

 

They got out of the car and set off along the river, walking close enough to each other that their arms occasionally bumped together. The day was warmer than expected and they both shed their outer layers as they walked, glad of the slight breeze that picked up now and then. As Esca tied his hoodie around his waist, Marcus took the opportunity to look him over, wondering whether he’d made an effort for their day out. The blue checked shirt didn’t look as scruffy as the usual things he wore and the thought made him smile just as Esca looked up at him.

 

“What?”

 

Marcus just shook his head and carried on walking until eventually he saw the same old willow tree that he and his mum used to sit beside all those years ago. It looked smaller now, less impressive than the giant he remembered but maybe it was just him that got bigger. He stopped walking and sat down on the grass, his arms wrapped around his knees.

 

“I forgot how beautiful this place was.”

 

Esca dropped down beside him and followed his gaze across the river and the rolling hills beyond then lay on his back, stretching out in the unexpected sunshine.

 

“It’s nice here,” he said. “Peaceful. Don’t get much of that back home.”

 

“You could tell me something about yourself,” Marcus ventured after a long period of silence broken only by a few squawking birds and the sound of the river running past them. “If you want,” he added hastily. “I’d like to know.”

 

“Nothing much to tell.”

 

“How come it’s just you? What happened to your family?”

 

Esca sat up and squinted at him, the old suspicion back in his eyes as he decided whether or not to answer. “I was fifteen when my dad died,” he said eventually, shrewd eyes still fixed on Marcus. “I was still fifteen when my mum died. He dropped dead and she died two months later.”

 

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

 

“Why? Was it you who mugged her and caused my dad to have a heart attack when he went to try and protect her?” Esca’s eyebrows knitted together in a hard frown and that tenseness was back, as if he could suddenly spring up and either strangle Marcus or run. He did neither, slowly relaxing while Marcus tried to convey as much empathy as he could with only his eyes.

 

 _It wasn’t me,_ he thought _. I don’t know who it was but it wasn’t me. Don’t hate me._

 

They stared at each other for a few moments and Marcus let himself focus on the gentle rush of the water to calm his nerves.

 

“And your mum died because of the mugging?” he asked cautiously.

 

Esca shrugged as if he felt it didn’t matter to him any more. “She was sick anyway,” he said.

 

“What happened to you?”

 

“Kept Social Services at bay by playing happy families with some relatives for a couple of months until I was sixteen but I didn’t stay. They weren’t interested and neither was I. Wanted my own life, you know? Wanted to do my own thing. I’m Brigantes, they’ve been my family ever since.” The challenge was back in his voice and in his eyes, daring Marcus to say anything against them. “I hung out with them as much as I could, stuck it out at school another couple of terms and did whatever I had to do to get by. Eventually got on a training course as a mechanic and now I work a couple of days a week at the garage. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing and I get extra shifts now and then to cover when people are on holiday. I’m good at fixing things and I like it.”

 

Esca got up and wondered over to the water’s edge, Marcus’ eyes tracking his every move. He picked up several stones and began throwing them, trying to get one to reach the other side. When he ran out of missiles he started searching for more then turned his head and looked back at Marcus over his shoulder, his face half shadowed in the sunlight. 

 

“What?” Marcus asked softly, not really expecting an answer but beginning to feel uncomfortable under Esca’s relentless gaze.

 

Esca watched him for a moment longer, as if he expected Marcus to say or do something, then he shook his head and carried on with his quest to reach the far river bank with his stones. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

 

Marcus carried on watching him, appreciating the profile of his features, the curve of his arse in his faded skinny jeans, the coppery glow of his hair under the sun. He didn’t look like someone who could hold his own in a fight but Marcus knew better. Esca was tough. Marcus had seen how fearless he was, outnumbered against guys much bigger than he was. The instinct to fight was deep within him, as it was with Marcus and, as much as there seemed to be a real connection between them, Marcus knew that there was always a possibility Esca could turn on him at any time. A tiny voice inside his head pointed out that that was probably all part of the thrill.

 

When they began to get hungry they walked further along the river bank until they came to the same old pub Marcus and his mum used to have lunch at if they hadn’t brought a picnic. It still looked the same. They bought some food and a couple of cokes and sat opposite each other at one of the tables in the empty beer garden, picking at their sandwiches.

 

“Come on then,” Esca said, squinting with the sun in his eyes. “I’ve told you my sob story. What’s yours?”

 

“My dad was with the Romans,” Marcus replied. “People used to say that my mum married beneath her but you can’t help who you fall in love with, right?” Esca rolled his eyes and stuck two fingers in his mouth to pretend he was about to be sick. “I remember being a happy kid but then my dad left home one day and never came back.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“Don’t know.”

 

“Do you think he’s still out there somewhere? Do you want to find him?”

 

“No, he’s dead. He would never have left us.”

 

Marcus looked up to see Esca staring at him and felt that now familiar mixture of excitement and discomfort crawl over him.

 

“You’re not what I expected,” Esca said in that hard, direct way he had of speaking, no expression on his face to suggest what was going on behind those blueish-grey eyes.

 

“No?” Marcus gave up on his sandwich as his gut turned somersaults under Esca’s gaze.

 

“No.”

 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” 

 

“I like you,” Esca said after a prolonged pause, adding a quick “I think.”

 

It was good enough for Marcus. He smiled and Esca smiled back at him, suddenly appearing a little shy. It looked good on him. Once they’d finished their lunch they set off back along the river, bumping into each other as they walked in the same way they had when they’d started out but deliberately this time, nudging each other and laughing. Marcus threatened to push Esca into the water and Esca took off running, Marcus sprinting after him until they stopped by the willow tree again and flung themselves onto the grass, breathless and laughing.

 

“Can you swim?” Marcus asked.

 

“Nope,” Esca replied. “If you’d pushed me in, you’d have had to come and rescue me.”

 

Marcus turned his head to look at him. “Not a chance,” he chuckled.

 

Esca made an exaggerated sound of outrage and flung out an arm to hit him. “Bastard.” He sat up and crossed his legs. “Maybe if we ever come back here, you could teach me.”

 

“What, in the river? Nobody learns to swim in a river and it’s probably full of things you wouldn’t want to be swimming with anyway.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Water rats.”

 

“Gross.”

 

They lay side by side on the grass for a while, silently watching clouds glide slowly across the sky until eventually Esca got up and went to the willow tree. He took a flick-knife out of the pocket of his jeans and started scratching at the gnarled old trunk. 

 

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked him, getting up wandering over to see for himself.

 

“Carving my initials in the tree.” He finished and offered the little knife to Marcus. “Want to do yours?”

 

Marcus took the knife and gouged at the bark until both their initials stood out; MA and EM, there for anyone to see, for as long as the tree was there. It felt like a victory of sorts, a two-fingered salute to anybody who didn’t think they should be hanging out together.

 

“It’d be nice to stay here,” Esca said when Marcus handed him his knife. “It’s a pity we have to go back.”

 

“Yeah but we do. I’ve got work tomorrow. And anyway, I think Guern wants his car back.”

 

Esca sighed and looked at the water then he caught Marcus’ eye and a mischievous grin crept across his face. 

 

“Race you!” he shouted but he was already running. Marcus opened his mouth to protest Esca’s head start then thought better of it and set off after him, determined not to be left behind. 

 

 

The sun was sinking fast by the time they got back to Marcus’ flat, ominous rain clouds starting to gather over the city. Marcus emptied his jacket pockets out onto the coffee table in his tiny living-room, noticing the condom that Guern had given him a second too late. Esca raised an eyebrow and shot him an enquiring look.

 

“Subtle,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

 

“Shit.” Marcus grabbed the condom and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. “It’s not what it looks like.”

 

“What, that’s not a condom you’ve been carrying around with you all day then?”

 

“Fuck. Fuck, shit, shit, fuck.” Marcus could feel his cheeks flaming. For fuck’s sake, he was a grown adult acting like a child. “I wasn’t expecting us to have sex,” he tried to explain. “It was just in my pocket.”

 

“Very responsible of you.” They were staring at each other now and Esca’s voice had lost the teasing edge to it.

 

“Do you want anything to eat?” Marcus asked, as it was the only thing he could put into words.

 

“Not hungry.”

 

“Me neither.” Not for food.

 

He moved to stand in front of Esca and for a while they just stayed there, arms hanging by their sides, as if neither of them was sure of what to do next. Marcus’ hands were itching to touch, his eyes staring at the front of Esca’s checked shirt so hard that the pattern began to blur. He raised his hands slowly and began to undo the buttons, one by one, overriding the desire to simply rip the shirt off Esca and be done with it. Esca didn’t move, he simply continued to stand there looking anywhere but at Marcus’s face as Marcus slid the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. Marcus let his eyes skim over the skin which was appearing before him; the smooth planes of Esca’s chest, the firm flat abdomen and the light trail of hair from beneath his belly button that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans, the livid bruise under his ribs that Marcus figured had to be from the run-in with the Seals. He shot a quick glance at the tattoo on Esca’s arm but couldn’t quite bring himself to look at it for too long so he ran his fingertips down the well-defined arms, watching one hand as it followed the line of a distended vein. 

 

When he finally turned his attention to Esca’s face, he was staring straight ahead, apparently entranced by the logo on Marcus’ t-shirt. Marcus focused on him for a while; his eyes, the curve of his mouth, an old faded bruise still visible on his jaw then Esca reached out and pulled the t-shirt up over his head, dropping it on the floor and sliding his hands down Marcus’ chest. Marcus felt goose-bumps begin to stand out on his skin. He leaned forward and gently scraped his teeth over the skin of Esca’s neck, under his ear. Esca let out an audible gasp and tipped his head back and to the side, allowing Marcus more skin to move his lips over. He accepted the unspoken offer and continued nibbling at Esca’s neck as his hands fumbled for Esca’s belt and began to unbuckle it before unbuttoning the fly and rubbing his knuckle over the mouth-watering bulge inside. He slid his hands down the back of Esca’s jeans and his shorts, squeezing his buttocks and pulling him close so they were finally skin to skin.

 

Suddenly the anticipation was over. Their mouths mashed together, hands stroking and grabbing wherever they could. Marcus felt light-headed; as desperate as he was to remember every second of this, he could hardly concentrate he was so aroused. They kicked off their shoes and struggled out of the remainder of their clothes until they were both naked; no conversation, just hoarse words of encouragement and harsh breathing. Esca pushed him back onto the sofa and straddled his thighs, apparently unwilling to come up for air as he ground against him at mouth and groin, grasping a handful of Marcus’ hair and pulling painfully. Marcus didn’t care. He grunted his approval and gave a handful of Esca’s hair the same treatment, pulling him as close as he could and holding him still. This kind of fight was much better than the kind that included punches and weapons.

 

He hooked his free arm around Esca’s waist and flipped him over onto his back, climbing on top of him as Esca clutched at him, digging his fingernails into Marcus’ shoulders as he pushed up against him with all his strength. Marcus’ right foot found the floor and he used it to brace himself, bearing his weight down on Esca’s groin. Esca made a noise somewhere between pained gasp and long, low groan and dug his nails in even deeper, the one leg that wasn’t trapped underneath Marcus hooking over the back of his thigh and squeezing. They were barely even moving, just straining against each other and grunting. Marcus gripped Esca’s wrists and forced his arms above his head, holding them so hard his own arms began to ache. He pressed his forehead against Esca’s shoulder, every muscle in his body strained to the limit as he inhaled the scent of Esca’s cool, slick skin. He sucked at it, tasting salt and sweat and then the pressure building at the base of his spine exploded through him and he was coming so hard he saw stars. He squeezed Esca’s wrists impossibly tightly and rubbed against him, his own nerve endings on fire as Esca’s whole body went rigid beneath him and then began jerking wildly.

 

They lay in a tangle on the sofa for a while, both breathing hard, their bodies stuck together with sweat and semen. When he could move, Marcus reached between them and smeared the warm, sticky mess into Esca’s belly, feeling the abdominal muscles twitching at his touch. He forced himself to sit up and reached for his discarded t-shirt to clean them both up a little. Esca followed him, resuming his position straddling Marcus’ thighs and leaning forward to kiss him, a slow gentle kiss this time, his fingers curling around the back of Marcus’ head. It had been a long time, too long since Marcus had done this with someone and he gave in to the blissful aftermath, his hands stroking down Esca’s back, concentrating on the soft slide of their mouths. 

 

Too soon the kiss was over and Marcus opened his eyes to see Esca watching him, head tipped to one side, intelligent eyes examining his face.

 

“Let me know when you’re up for round two.”

 

“I’m ready when you are.” Marcus smiled almost shyly under Esca’s gaze then he pushed him off his lap and stood up, pulling Esca with him. He reached down and clasped his hands together around Esca’s arse, lifting him up. More smirking than smiling, Esca hooked his ankles around Marcus’ waist and hung on as he carried him through to the bedroom and set him down on the edge of the bed. Esca scooted backwards and Marcus crawled on top of him, leaning down to lick over his collar bone.

 

“I’ve waited a long time to do this,” he confessed, sounding as breathless and strung out as he felt.

 

“I hope it’s living up to your expectations.”

 

“Above and beyond, so far.”

 

“I’m flattered.” Esca pressed up against Marcus’ crotch. “What else have you got for me? I mean, we’re going to fuck for real, right?”

 

They were both already half hard and rapidly getting harder. Marcus heard himself moan and bit Esca’s nipple, probably too hard but Esca didn’t complain, arching up into the touch. They grunted and rubbed and ground against each other, hands grabbing and stroking every bit of skin they could find. Still on top, Marcus worked his way lower, sucking at Esca’s skin; tasting him, inhaling his scent, mapping the contours and scars of his body with his tongue. He sucked and licked and bit his way across the sharp, jutting pelvic bones, deliberately avoiding Esca’s cock to tease him.

 

“Shit!”

 

“What?” Marcus stopped, startled by Esca’s fierce tone. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind,” he pleaded. “Please.”

 

“No. We left that fucking condom in the other room.”

 

“It’s ok,” Marcus mumbled as he returned his attention to Esca’s chest. “I think there’s some in here.” He reached out his hand in the vague direction of the bedside table and fumbled for the drawer. “At least, there used to be. It’s been a while since I looked.”

 

He pulled at the drawer handle, too hard and the drawer flew out, scattering its contents onto the floor. Marcus cursed and leaned over, relieved to catch sight of a few foil squares in amongst the other assorted debris. He grabbed for one and hauled himself back on top of Esca but Esca had other ideas and rolled them over before Marcus could fully recover his balance. Marcus stretched out underneath him and let out a series of long, low groans as Esca’s mouth drove him into a frenzy, leaving a trail of intense tingling sensations criss-crossing his body. 

 

Too desperate to wait any longer, Marcus rolled them over again, pushing up onto his knees between Esca’s legs and tearing open the condom wrapper. He glanced up as he rolled it over his cock and met Esca’s eyes.

 

“So you like to be in charge, yeah?” Esca challenged. “What makes you think I’m just going to roll over and take it?”

 

“You don’t have to roll over,” Marcus growled, smearing saliva over his fingers and rubbing them over Esca’s hole before pushing inside to stretch him. “I can fuck you just as easily like this.”

 

He shoved his hands under the backs of Esca’s thighs and raised his legs, their eyes still locked together as Esca crossed his ankles at the small of Marcus’ back. Marcus angled his cock, pushed his hips forward and felt Esca’s body give way to him. It felt so good; too good, too fast and Marcus had to turn away and focus on something other than Esca’s face or run the risk of shooting his load before he’d even moved. 

 

“Just so you know,” Esca forced out between gritted teeth. He grabbed Marcus’ chin and yanked his head back to face him again, eyes glistening and pupils dilated. “Just because your cock’s up my arse doesn’t mean you’re in control.”

 

Marcus pulled back and gracelessly thrust forward, setting up a hard and steady rhythm, too far gone to think of a suitable response. Esca grunted loudly and his legs tightened around Marcus’ waist, rigid and starting to shake. He arched his back up off the bed, exposing his neck and Marcus latched onto it, biting and sucking at the rough, stubbled skin under his jaw. 

 

It was never going to last long, even though they’d both already come once that night. Within half a dozen thrusts Marcus could feel his orgasm threatening and he just lost it, pounding into the writhing, grunting body beneath him. Esca grabbed his own cock with one hand and dug the fingers of his other hand hard into Marcus’ arse cheek, his grunts becoming higher pitched and more desperate with each thrust. He let out a desperate howl, his muscles constricting unbearably tightly around Marcus’ cock as he came, the sharp scent hitting Marcus and pushing him over the edge with an equally loud and uninhibited roar just seconds later.

 

 

Waking with a jolt, Marcus rolled over and bumped into something solid. The night before flooded back into his mind and he smiled as he remembered it all, from the best sex he’d ever had to the surprisingly gentle period that followed. They’d lain facing each other, him and Esca, touching and caressing, not quite kissing but with their lips simply resting together, everything Marcus had never really wanted with other people he’d fucked or expected from someone like Esca. There was still so much to learn about each other and maybe not a lot of time to do it.

 

Marcus had tried to clear his mind of what was to come and just concentrate on being close to someone. “You can stay if you want,” he’d whispered when his eyes became too heavy to keep open.

 

“I don’t think I could leave if my life depended on it.” Esca had smiled against his lips and snuggled closer. “I’m totally fucked, in every way.”

 

“Then my work is done.”

 

“You know, you’re really not a bad fuck. Might even be worth doing this again sometime.” Marcus had done his best to look affronted but Esca had grinned at him and then tugged lightly on his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m not big on compliments.”

 

They’d chuckled wearily at that, closing their eyes and finally drifting off to sleep pressed against each other. 

 

Still smiling at the memory, Marcus stretched himself fully awake, his joints popping and protesting. Esca stirred beside him, burrowing further into the duvet.

 

“Morning,” Marcus whispered softly, smoothing down an errant lock of Esca’s hair. Esca raised his head, bleary eyes taking in the strange surroundings and squinting at Marcus before remembering where he was. He lay back again, showing no sign of getting out of bed. “Hey!” 

 

“Mm hmm.”

 

“I’ve got to go to work.” Marcus poked Esca in the ribs and pulled the duvet off him. “We need to get up.”

 

Esca grumbled and rolled over onto his front and for the first time Marcus noticed another tattoo across the small of his back; a line of writing in a language he didn’t recognise. He ran a finger along the letters and chuckled as Esca squirmed under the touch.

 

“That tickles.”

 

“What does it say?”

 

“Go to hell.”

 

“Come on.” Marcus scraped his fingernail back over the letters and Esca jerked in response. “What does it say?”

 

“It’s Scots Gaelic. It says ‘go to hell’. You know, you touch me there and you’ll have to pay the consequences.”

 

“Yeah?” Marcus carried on running his fingers back and forth across the tattoo, his heart starting to beat faster as Esca buried his head in his arms and moaned, still squirming under his touch.

 

“I warned you,” he growled and Marcus found himself shoved over onto his back with Esca licking and sucking his way downwards until he reached Marcus’ cock and instantly made him forget about anything else but the warm, wet pull of his mouth.

 

For the first time ever, Marcus was late for work.

 

 

 

 

Drusillus looked around to make sure they were alone then whipped a can of spray-paint out of his jacket pocket and began to graffiti his tag onto the last remaining empty space on the wall.

 

“What’s up with you these days?” he asked as Marcus idly kicked an empty beer can around.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Don’t bullshit me, M.” Drusillus eyed him suspiciously. “Something’s going on with you.”

 

“It’s just the Seals, that’s all. This waiting around is doing my head in.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Since they’d grabbed the lone Seal and taken him back to the lock-up, things had gone quiet. Too quiet. The Seals were biding their time, the calm before the storm and waiting wasn’t something the Romans were good at. But Marcus knew that wasn’t all that was preying on his mind these days. He watched Drusillus and thought about their friendship, how they’d looked out for each other over the years but he wouldn’t understand if Marcus told him about Esca or wanting to get out. 

 

“Yeah, mine too. If it was up to me,” Drusillus carried on, “we’d be heading over the river and taking the fight to them. I told Placidus but he said that if we take enough men north, the Brigantes might try and take back our patch.”

 

“What, Placidus has actually thought out a strategy?”

 

“This is serious, M. Since we took out that Seal, Placidus keeps talking about how we’re going to wipe out the rest of them, like he thinks it’s going to be easy.”

 

Marcus had tried to forget about the Seal they’d killed, avoiding the lock-up as much as he could, drifting further away from the gang as he focused on Esca. “What did they do with him?” he asked, leaning against the wall, feeling tired and muddled. “You know, after.”

 

“Placidus got Galba and Paulus to dump the body. It’s not like it would be traced back to us. The police don’t give a fuck, they’d rather we just all killed each other and got rid of the problem for them.”

 

A woman with a little boy walked towards them, deliberately keeping her eyes down. Two young men wearing hoodies and loitering around in this part of town usually only meant one thing; gang. She leaned down to whisper something to the little boy and her grip on his hand tightened as she hurried past. Marcus watched her sadly. He hated being feared almost as much as he hated the way the little boy turned back to look at them with wide-eyed awe, as if they were superheroes.

 

“I’m going home,” he said. “You off to the lock-up?”

 

“Yeah, I’ll see who’s there, what’s happening.”

 

“Let me know, ok?”

 

“I know something’s up with you,” Drusillus carried on, “and it’s not just the Seals. Did your waitress turn you down?”

 

“As if.” Marcus managed a smile.

 

“Well, she’s not doing you much good cos you don’t look like a happy man.”

 

Marcus thought about that. He felt torn, too many different things vying for attention in his head. Things with Esca had moved unexpectedly fast and in other circumstances he would’ve been walking around with a big grin on his face but instead he felt like he was walking on thin ice which threatened to crack under his feet any second. The Seals loomed large in his thoughts as did the guilt that gnawed at him over deserting the Romans and neither of those things were going to go away, no matter how much mind-blowing sex he had.

 

“Don’t worry about me Dru,” he said. They both made fists and bumped them together. “I’ll see you around.”

 

“Later,” Drusillus called after him.

 

Marcus stopped off to buy something to put in a sandwich, pretty sure that he already had some bread that wasn’t too far past its sell-by date. He almost took a different way home, just to be on the safe side but he persuaded himself to man up and in the end he took his usual route along the canal, eyes scanning for trouble. There it was again, the crawling feeling across the back of his neck, a tiny imperceptible movement caught out the corner of his eye. He spun around.

 

“What are you waiting for?” he shouted to nothing, no-one. A couple of pigeons squawked in startled response and flew up to perch on the girders under the bridge that spanned the canal. “Come on, you fucking cowards! I know you’re there!”

 

Still nothing and Marcus shook his head at his own stupidity. He looked up at the pigeons still watching him warily from above and gave them a rueful grin. “Sorry guys,” he said. “Won’t do it again.”

 

By the time he got home Marcus felt like going straight to bed and sleeping for a week. He made his sandwich and flopped on the sofa to eat it but left most of it untouched after the bread proved to be a little too stale for him to stomach. Too tired to bother switching on the TV, he texted Esca just to say hi and closed his eyes for a moment. By the time the ringtone on his phone woke him up, it was dark and his neck was stiff from being at a funny angle while he’d dozed.

 

“What you up to?” Esca asked. “Are you at home?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Marcus spluttered, fuzzy-headed and not quite fully awake. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

 

“Aww, sorry.” Esca didn’t sound sorry at all and Marcus could hear him trying not to laugh. “Did I interrupt any good dreams?”

 

“Yeah, you did. Next time you come round I’ll show you what I was doing to you.”

 

“Promises, promises.”

 

Marcus chuckled. “Where are you?”

 

“Sitting in the stairwell of the rancid block of flats I call home. I figured it’d be better to talk to you here than in the flat cos Struan’s there. His mum kicked him out again.”

 

“How old is he?”

 

“Fifteen, only just. The old cow sobered up enough to finally notice that he’d got his tattoo done and she went ape-shit.”

 

“That’s too bad.”

 

“What, that his mum kicked him out or that he got his tattoo?” 

 

“Both.”

 

“Screw you,” Esca said mildly, his voice almost drowned out as someone slammed a door and a man and a woman started screaming a stream of colourful insults at each other somewhere near him. Never one to be left out, Esca joined in. “Are you still there?” he asked when he finally remembered he was on the phone with someone.

 

“Still here, listening to the free entertainment.”

 

“What was I saying? Oh yeah, Struan,” he said when Marcus reminded him. “He’s just a kid and I don’t want him to get hurt, you know? I feel responsible for him.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Marcus yawned loudly. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m really tired.”

 

“It’s ok. I’ve got to go anyway. I’m almost out of credit.”

 

“Can you come round tomorrow night?”

 

“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

 

“Ok. G’night.” Marcus yawned again.

 

“Get some sleep. If I come round tomorrow you better not be too fucking tired to show me what you were dreaming about earlier.”

 

Esca hung up and with a supreme effort, Marcus hauled himself off the sofa and shuffled through to his bedroom, stopping on the way to brush his teeth and pee. He stripped off his clothes, leaving them lying in a crumpled pile on the floor and stared down at the wreckage of his bed, smiling. He really should have washed his bedding but he hadn’t had the heart to wash away Esca’s scent so he climbed between the sheets and closed his eyes, the smell of sex and Esca in his nostrils and a smile still on his face.

 

 

Marcus was as good as his word when Esca came round to the flat on the following night, demonstrating in explicit detail what he’d been dreaming about doing to him. As soon as they’d said hello to each other he hustled Esca up against the wall and wasted no time in getting down onto his knees. He unzipped Esca’s fly and tugged his jeans and shorts halfway down his thighs, flattered to notice the speed with which Esca was getting hard, the tip of his cock already leaking. Marcus flattened his tongue out and licked slowly up Esca’s length from root to tip then dipped into the slit to taste him. He slid his lips over the head, sucking hard and Esca thrust his hips forward, forcing more of himself into Marcus’ mouth.

 

He scraped his teeth up the underside of Esca’s cock, the noisy and eager reaction increasing his own excitement as he carried on sucking. Before too long he felt the tell-tale trembling in Esca’s legs, the way his balls tightened and the desperate edge to his grunts and groans. Marcus shoved a hand down the front of his own jeans, intending to squeeze himself hard enough to delay coming but Esca was already shooting warm, salty jets into his mouth so Marcus swallowed greedily and forgot about holding off, coming hard with two harsh tugs at his cock.

 

He rested his head against the soft dampness of Esca’s groin until his head stopped spinning and he managed to climb safely back onto his feet.

 

“I’ll grab us a couple of beers from the fridge,” he mumbled against the frantic pulse in Esca’s neck, “and I’ll catch up with you in the bedroom.”

 

“You read my mind.” Esca chuckled, pulling his head back by the hair so he could kiss him, tongue probing for his own taste in Marcus’ mouth. 

 

By the time Marcus collected the beers and joined him in the bedroom, he was already naked and sprawled across the bed. Marcus handed him a bottle and shucked off his own clothes before sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to nudge him out of the way.

 

“Move over,” he coaxed.

 

“Why? I’ve clearly marked my territory.” Esca stretched out and took up even more space.

 

“Well, your territory is about to be invaded.” The words were out before Marcus fully realised what he’d said. Esca’s eyes met his, his face hardening for a moment before he sat up, taking a long drink from his beer. 

 

“So. How’s things with you today?” he asked after a moment or two of awkward silence. “Didn’t get much of a chance to ask when I got here.”

 

“Not so good.” Marcus caught Esca’s raised eyebrow. “Apart from us, that is,” he added, glad to have an opportunity to move on from the unfortunate mention of invaded territory and start breathing easier again.

 

“I’m glad you remembered.”

 

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

 

“I think you already did.”

 

They both laughed and settled back onto the bed.

 

“Do you ever think about getting away from here?” Marcus asked. It seemed as good a time as any to mention it and gauge Esca’s reaction.

 

“Fancy another day out in the country, do you? No, wait. You’re going to teach me to swim in the river with the water rats after all.”

 

“No.” Marcus drained his beer and let the bottle drop over the side of the bed. “I meant getting away permanently.”

 

“Why would I want to do that?” Esca asked, frowning at the thought. “Do you think about it?”

 

“Yeah I do,” Marcus admitted. “I want to get out, start over somewhere else.” Now he’d started, Marcus wanted to get it all out into the open, as if telling Esca was the one thing that would finally spur him into action. “I’m done with the Romans and I’m done with this city.”

 

“How long have you been planning this?”

 

“A while. I just need to find the right time to pack up and leave.”

 

Esca hesitated and Marcus could practically hear the cogs in his brain turning, trying to process the situation. “So, was tonight meant to be a goodbye fuck?” he asked.

 

“No, no.” 

 

Marcus was going to explain, to reassure but Esca cut in quickly. “Cos this has been fun, yeah but it’s not like it means anything. I’m not going to miss you.” 

 

As much as it hurt a little to hear him say it out loud, Marcus could hear the bluster and disappointment behind the words and it spurred him on. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve been thinking that maybe we could go together.”

 

Esca’s response was to climb off the bed and start angrily pulling on the nearest clothes he could find which, to add to his annoyance, included Marcus’ shorts.

 

“What kind of fucked-up, fairy tale world are you living in?” he shouted.

 

“Just hear me out,” Marcus started, a little taken aback at the force of Esca’s reaction.

 

“Fuck that! Us, me and you,” Esca wildly waved his arm around, “this isn’t forever you know. I’m not going to run out on everyone and everything I know so I can go and play happy families with you somewhere!”

 

“Esca….”

 

“This was a fucking mistake.” Esca looked around to try and locate his own shorts, Marcus’ still hanging off his smaller frame. “Typical fucking Roman,” he snarled, the bluster of earlier lost amongst the sudden flash of anger. “You’re all the same, thinking you can call the shots and everybody’s just going to roll over and do as you say.”

 

“Esca!” Marcus spat his name out sharply to get his attention, causing Esca to stop and scowl at him the way he used to do when they were facing each other in the run-up to a fight. He waited for a second, forcing himself to keep calm. “It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing my shorts which are only being held up because they’re caught on your half-hard cock.”

 

Esca looked down at himself and sighed, his scowl disappearing. “Can’t even row with you without getting a hard-on,” he grumbled, sitting down next to Marcus and looking at him thoughtfully. “It’s a really dumb idea of yours though.”

 

“Why?” Marcus asked. Esca just shrugged in response. “Where do you see yourself in a year, 5 years, 10 years?”

 

“Never really thought about it.”

 

“Don’t you ever think about the future?”

 

“Not much. Better to live each day as it comes than plan for days I might never see.”

 

“Don’t you want to be happy?” Marcus bumped his shoulder against him, not sure that Esca would take kindly to him taking his hand. “Don’t you want to live somewhere better than this?”

 

“Yeah,” Esca said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Obviously if I win the lottery tomorrow then I’ll buy a big house in the country with servants and horses and lots of shit that amuses me.” 

 

“Seriously though, you don’t have to stay here.”

 

“You’re living in cloud cuckoo land.”

 

“You must have dreams,” Marcus pointed out. “Everyone does.”

 

“And that’s all they are,” Esca argued half-heartedly, “just dreams. None of it’s real.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“I just did! Big house, lots of stuff.” He squinted at Marcus through one eye and made an exasperated tutting sound. “Fuck, you really are relentless! Ok, ok, I’d like to live somewhere quiet, somewhere nothing ever happens and people leave their doors unlocked. Somewhere people get on with each other and don’t try and stab you cos you’re different. I’d like to spend all day fixing stuff and all night fucking someone incredibly hot who worships the ground I walk on.”

 

Marcus waggled his eyebrows and smiled. “That’s a tall order.”

 

“I’m not finished. I want enough money to do what I want, hot water whenever I want it and more food than I can eat.”

 

“Doesn’t everyone?”

 

Esca shrugged again. “I don’t give a fuck what everyone else wants,” he said. “Just me. And Struan I suppose.” He gave Marcus a playful shove. “Not you.”

 

“No? Any chance I can change your mind?”

 

Esca didn’t answer. He was looking at him in that way he had, cocking his head to one side and narrowing his eyes.

 

“What?” Marcus asked.

 

“I’m still trying to work out what it is about you.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Why I like you,” Esca said, still staring hard at him.  

 

“You got to know me.”

 

“No, before that. I used to see you at fights and at Guern’s place and wonder what you were like.”

 

“Really? Because you hid it pretty well.” Marcus started to chuckle. “There were times I thought I’d spontaneously combust just from the way you scowled at me.”

 

Esca didn’t laugh with him, his face still expressionless. “It pissed me off, the way you looked at me, cos I knew what you were thinking.”

 

“What was I thinking?”

 

“Same thing I was,” Esca said, his eyes darkening as he swept them over Marcus and trailed his hand over Marcus’ hip. “You were the enemy though. I wanted to hate you but I wanted to be around you even more.”

 

Marcus reached out to stroke the side of his face and leaned over to kiss him. The kiss quickly grew into something more urgent and with dizzying speed they were writhing and panting harshly against each other. They weren’t gentle as they jostled for position and in the end it was Marcus on his hands and knees with Esca kneeling behind him and nudging his legs further apart. Esca leaned over him, pushing in slow and deep and setting up a steady rhythm that had Marcus pushing back deeper onto his cock with one desperate grunt after another while he stroked himself in time with Esca’s thrusts. They rocked together until they were done then they collapsed into a tangle of limbs and finally nestled against each other lazily, their earlier talk of the future half forgotten in a haze of blissed-out contentment.

 

 

Marcus had almost reached the museum for his evening shift when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He smiled at the thought that it might be Esca.

 

It wasn’t.

 

“Lock-up, now.”

 

“What’s…..” But Placidus had already hung up, the tone of his voice leaving Marcus in no doubt that something bad had either happened or was going to happen. He hesitated for a moment, his divided loyalties warring in his head but this time the Romans won out over anything else. Marcus made a quick call to his boss, feigning sudden illness then turned back and headed for the lock-up. 

 

It was buzzing when he got there and he nodded to the lads in greeting as he pushed through the crowd towards Placidus, taking notice of the sombre and angry faces.

 

“What’s going on?” Marcus had to raise his voice to be heard.

 

Placidus turned to face him. “Lutorius is dead.”

 

“What?” The words hit Marcus like someone had jut kicked him in the gut and kicked him hard.

 

“He’s dead.” Placidus was almost vibrating with anger, a vein throbbing steadily at the side of his forehead. “The Seals got him. They’re picking people off, one by one. They’ve taken five of us out so far today; Lutorius, two more in hospital and the others fucked up enough that they won’t be any use in a fight for a while.”

 

“Listen..,” Marcus began but Placidus cut him off.

 

“You better get your act together Marcus cos we need every man on this. I called everyone here so we can stop them in their tracks, for good.”

 

“This is all getting out of control. People are dying!”

 

“We’ll do what has to be done.”

 

“Jesus Placidus, listen to yourself. When’s it all going to end?”

 

“When those bastards are gone! You know that. Are you going soft on us Marcus?” Placidus lowered his voice and pulled himself up to his full height, getting right in Marcus’ face. “What would you do? Talk to them? Try and reason with them? Take them out to dinner and ask them to please play nicely?”

 

“Get out of my face.” Marcus warned him, drawing a few interested looks from the lads nearest them. 

 

“Why are you never here any more, eh? What are you up to? Where do you go?”

 

“I’m not scared of them if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

 

“Maybe you’re thinking of running away. Maybe you’re a traitor,” Placidus continued, “just like your dad.”

 

“Don’t you talk about him,” Marcus snapped. “You’re not fit to mention his name.”

 

“I know all about him. What was he doing going north, eh? Was he off up there to sell his soul to the devil? To sell us out?”

 

Marcus clenched his fists and willed himself not to wrap his hands around Placidus’s throat and choke the spiteful little shit to death. “You know nothing about my dad!”

 

“You Aquilas are all the same,” Placidus goaded. “Your dad got himself slaughtered like a pig and now you’d be happy to let the Seals take over without a fight.”

 

“I don’t want them here any more than you do!”

 

“Then show it! You should be here with us, not off on your own all the time. What’s so important? Drusillus says you’re chasing some fucking waitress.”

 

 _Life,_ Marcus thought. _A future. Esca MacCunoval. That’s what’s important._ “I’m not chasing any waitresses,” he said, frustration gnawing at him like a hundred hungry rats.

 

“So where have you been? Your precious job doesn’t account for all your time.”

 

“You wouldn’t understand.” Nobody would. God, what he felt for Esca..…Even Marcus had difficulty understanding how he’d fallen so far so fast. He felt as if his whole world was starting to spin out of control and Esca was all he had to hold on to.

 

“Yeah, you’re right! I don’t understand but at least I know where my loyalties lie.”

 

Placidus pushed past him and Marcus tried to follow but someone grabbed his arm and he spun round to see Drusillus.

 

“You hear about Lutorius?”

 

“Yeah.” Marcus shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

 

“They’re going down for this, I swear it. They’re going to be crying for their mothers by the time I’m done.” Drusillus cricked his neck, the vertebrae clicking loudly. “Rumour has it they’ve offed a couple of Brigantes too.”

 

“When?”

 

“No idea.” 

 

Marcus fought hard to keep any concern off his face as he tried to recall exactly when he’d last heard from Esca. Not since the early hours of the morning when he’d left the flat to go home, declining the offer to stay over, and it was early evening now. He made an excuse and slipped outside, pulling his phone out of his pocket and texting Esca.

 

_Are you ok?_

He waited for a while, trying to make it look as if he was just getting some air as he paced up and down, willing a response to appear on his phone. Maybe he should just call but he wasn’t sure he could string two words together with the anxiety that was shredding his insides.

 

_I’m good. Where are you?_

_Meet me at the flat, soon as you can._

 

Marcus didn’t bother to go back inside and tell anyone he was leaving. He set off towards home, not even bothering to look back when he heard Drusillus shout after him.

 

“Marcus! Where are you going? We need to stick together! Marcus!”

 

He walked fast in his haste to get home, a thousand things circulating around in his head. He jogged down a flight of steps to one of the underpasses, dodging his way between the piles of litter strewn around and striding into the piss-stinking concrete tunnel. A few steps in, he looked up and stopped dead, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end but not alerting him to the danger in time. There were two Seals at the end of the underpass in front of him and he didn’t really have to look behind him to know that there were others there, cutting him off completely. He reached into his pocket but it was empty and he remembered taking his knife out the night before, leaving it lying on the kitchen counter. 

 

“You should pay more attention, Roman,” one of the Seals said, and they all laughed. “Daydreaming can be fatal.”

 

“Show him, Dergdian,” someone shouted amidst the laughter.

 

Before he had a chance to turn around and see how many were behind him, Marcus found his arms pinned behind his back. 

 

“No, let him go,” the first Seal ordered. “No point in gutting a sitting duck. More fun to let him think he has a chance.”

 

Marcus quickly scanned the underpass, looking for anything he could use as a weapon but there was nothing he could use and no way out. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to fight. “No way are you going to move in here and take what’s ours,” he said. “This is Roman territory and you won’t beat us.”

 

“And yet here you are, all alone with nobody to back you up.” The Seal, Dergdian one of the others had called him, pulled a knife out from under his top and sauntered towards Marcus, all confidence and swagger. “We know all about you, Marcus Aquila and your little Brigantes bitch.” The others started laughing again. “Thought you were being so careful, didn’t you. It was so fucking easy.”

 

“Are you fuckers going to get on with this or were you just planning to bore me to death?”

 

A shadow briefly swept over Dergdian’s face and the other Seals advanced but he held up a hand to stop them. “Let’s make it fair,” he said, pointing the knife at Marcus. “Just me and you.”

 

“I’m not scared of you,” Marcus said through gritted teeth, holding his head high in defiance. “Bring it on.”

 

They circled each other slowly, sizing each other up and waiting for the right moment to make the first move. Dergdian grinned and deftly flipped the knife from one hand to the other. He knew he had the advantage but Marcus wasn’t one to be easily intimidated. He was ready. Dergdian lunged at him, the hand holding the knife extended. He was fast and Marcus felt the blade flash past his face as he jumped out of the way. He was bigger than Dergdian and he made use of his bulk, slamming into him and pushing him away, never taking his eye off the knife. Dergdian came at him again, the other Seals yelling their encouragement. Marcus hooked an arm around his neck and kicked his legs out from under him. Dergdian twisted violently as he fell, rolling away and springing back up onto his feet.

 

This time it was Marcus who charged. Not quite ready, Dergdian ducked, his head slamming into Marcus’ chest. Marcus flung his arms around Dergdian’s waist and tried to knock him off his feet again. They struggled with each other, momentum driving them into the wall and Marcus felt a white-hot burn in his shoulder. He turned his head and saw the blade piercing his top. With his right arm he pushed against Dergdian’s throat, forcing him back so the knife couldn’t penetrate further. Using the wall as leverage Marcus raised his leg and kicked Dergdian, a wave of nausea rolling over him as pain shot down his arm. He could feel the slick warmth of blood against his skin but he ignored it, biting back the pain, too intent on survival to focus on anything else. 

 

Coughing and clutching at his throat, Dergdian came at him again and they both crashed to the ground. Marcus landed awkwardly, Dergdian on top of him. He fought to keep the knife away, muscles burning as he gripped Dergdian’s arm and twisted it. For a split second Dergdian was caught slightly off-balance and Marcus managed to bring up a fist with his good hand, punching him hard on his chin. Dergdian fell backwards and the knife flew out of his hand. They both scrambled to their feet and Dergdian dived for the discarded knife on the ground. Desperate to stop him, Marcus used his weight advantage again, lunging at him and knocking him backwards. Dergdian stumbled, slamming into the concrete wall, his head snapping back and connecting with the solid surface with a sickening thud. 

 

Everything after that seemed to Marcus to happen in slow motion. He bent and picked up the knife, smeared with his own blood, and turned to the other Seals, expecting another onslaught. Nobody moved. They all simply stood in the underpass waiting for something to happen, staring at Dergdian. For a while he appeared only dazed, staring straight at Marcus until his eyes glazed over and he dropped like a stone onto the ground.

 

He lay there unmoving, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide in a grim expression of surprise. Marcus heard the sound of running feet and turned to see the Seals disappearing out the end of the underpass. He inched his way over to the body on the ground, half expecting Dergdian to spring up and attack him again, toeing at him with his boot. The blank, dark, unblinking eyes stared into nothingness and Marcus froze. It hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t start the fight, Dergdian’s death had been an accident but he knew he had to get out of there fast or he was going to be discovered with a knife in his hand leaning over a dead body.

 

His mind scrambling to find a solution to the problem, Marcus pulled his hood over his head and bolted in the opposite direction. 

 

 

The front door of the gym was locked when he got there and Marcus hammered on it desperately until it opened, staggering inside and leaning against the wall, avoiding Guern’s eyes for as long as he could.

 

“What the hell happened?” Guern’s voice was hard, insistent. “Marcus! Tell me! What happened?”

 

“I..I..” he stuttered, fighting to get the words out. He began to pace up and down, breathing heavily, his heart pounding but whether from the run to the gym or the result of the fight, he wasn’t sure. “They jumped me. Seals. One of them’s dead.”

 

“Fuck! Did you kill him?”

 

“It was an accident. We were fighting and he fell. He hit his head.”

 

“Did anybody see?”

 

Marcus shook his head. “Only the other Seals. They’re going to come after me.”

 

“You’re hurt.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” He finally met Guern’s gaze and saw barely contained anger there, as well as the hard determination that meant Guern had every intention of taking control if he felt he needed to. “I need to get out of this place fast,” he explained, words tumbling out of him. “I know it looks like I’m running away but recently I’ve felt like I’ve really been alive for the first time ever and I don’t want to lose that. It’s my life and I want a say in how it ends and I don’t want it to end like this. I want better than this.”

 

Guern nodded in agreement. “Ok. Just lie low for a few days and leave it to me.”

 

“It wasn’t my fault.” Marcus knew it was a pathetic thing to say but he needed Guern to understand. “I swear it wasn’t.”

 

“I know.” The older man stared hard at him, his mouth set in a grim line but he nodded his head again. “You want me to take a look at your shoulder?”

 

“No, no, it’s fine.” Marcus wasn’t sure of what else to do or say. “I fucked up.”

 

“How did they get you?”

 

“I just wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking about…..I was thinking about all the shit that’s happening and they must have been following me.”

 

“Just like your fucking dad!” The anger in Guern’s voice made Marcus jump. “Too wrapped up in the bigger picture and taking stupid risks!”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Are you? You wanted out but you couldn’t just do it. No, you had to wait until ‘the right time’. There is no right time, Marcus! In this kind of world, you make your decision and you act on it or someone will take it all away from you!” Finally Guern had run out of steam, the anger in his eyes replaced by concern and sadness. “It took your dad, Marcus. Don’t let it take you too.”

 

“He was going north of the river, that day he disappeared. Did the Seals kill him?” Anger stabbed at Marcus but he was too tired and in too much pain to maintain it and he was left with an overwhelming sense of defeat. He pulled up a chair and sat down before he fell down.

 

“Nobody knows for sure but that was always the rumour.”

 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

 

“What good would it have done, eh?” Guern asked. “Not so long ago you’d have gone steaming up there, over the river, swearing revenge and trying to take out all of them single handed. Then you told me that you wanted out and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise that, especially not when they’d started coming down here. I want you to have better, Marcus. So did your dad. So did your mum.”

 

“I asked Esca if he’d come with me.”

 

“What did he say?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then you have to leave without him.”

 

“I don’t want to leave without him.”

 

“You have to! You can’t make him do what he doesn’t want to do.”

 

Marcus stood up and banged a fist against the wall, yelling out his frustration. Guern just watched him patiently. 

 

“Feel better?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Go home. Be careful.” He handed Marcus his jacket, a bulky dark blue thing. “Put this on, in case someone sees you. You’re still bleeding,” he pointed out and Marcus looked to his left to see the large patch on his shoulder that was sodden with blood. As soon as he saw it, the pain increased again and he winced. “If you won’t let me take a look at it,” Guern continued, “then make sure you do it yourself.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Take my car, it’s parked round the back where it usually is.”

 

“No,” Marcus tried to argue. “I’ll be ok.”

 

“It’s not up for discussion.” Guern took his hand and pressed the keys into it. “I’ll pick it up later tonight from your place.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Go. Don’t do anything stupid.”

 

Marcus slipped out of the back yard to the alley where Guern always parked and got into the car. He turned on the ignition and wound down the window to get some air, resting his head back and taking a few deep breaths, part of his muddled mind registering that the song playing on the radio was one that he and Esca had sung along to on the day they’d gone to the countryside. He closed his eyes at the memory of that day and everything that had happened with Esca since and when he opened them again to drive off, Liathan was standing a little way ahead of him.

 

“Roman pig!” he spat. “You killed my brother! You’ll pay for what you did!” He took a couple of steps forward. “You took something from me and I’ll take something from you in payment!”

 

Marcus didn’t stop to argue. He slammed his foot down and drove the car at Liathan, who stood rooted to the spot and staring straight at him until he jumped out of the way at the last possible moment. With squealing tyres, Marcus pulled out into the traffic on the main road without bothering to look, not even when he heard the screech of brakes as he narrowly missed another car.

 

 

Marcus climbed the stairs to his flat, feeling nauseous and dizzy and in a lot of pain but with his senses on high alert. Even so, it was like a punch to the gut when he caught a glimpse of someone on the landing. His heart sped up, his brain fizzing as it tried to decide between fight or flight. He instinctively reached for Dergdian’s bloodied knife in his pocket then realised it was Esca, sitting on the floor outside his door.

 

“I’ve been waiting ages.” Esca scrambled to his feet. “Where have you been?”

 

“Shit.” Marcus took a deep breath and tried to force himself to calm down, his skin prickling. He leaned against the wall and rubbed his hands over his face. “I forgot you’d be here.”

 

“Marcus? What’s wrong?”

 

Marcus pushed off the wall and opened his front door, pulling Esca inside with him. “I need to talk to you.” He took off Guern’s jacket.

 

“What the fuck happened?” Esca’s eyes went wide. “You’re bleeding.”

 

“Can you have a look at it for me?” Marcus asked, not wanting to explain again but knowing that he’d have to eventually. “I don’t think it’s anything too bad.”

 

Esca followed him into the bathroom without asking any further questions and Marcus dug out some cotton swabs, disinfectant and dressings. He closed the toilet lid and sat down, letting Esca remove his t-shirt and have a closer look at the wound on his shoulder. He gritted his teeth at the sharp sting of the disinfectant.

 

“Sorry.” Esca finished poking around and stuck a dressing over the cut, still looking serious. “It could do with a few stitches but I’m guessing a trip to A&E is out of the question.” He threw the wad of blood-stained swabs into the bin. “You’ll live.” 

 

“Thanks doctor.”

 

Marcus leaned back against the cistern as Esca disappeared, returning with a glass of water and some painkillers.

 

“I fished these out of a drawer in the kitchen.” He held up the half-empty pack of codeine Marcus had swiped from the supplies at the lock-up, courtesy of Placidus’ connections. “You ok?”

 

“I’m fine.” Marcus reached up and stroked the side of Esca’s face. “It’s just a scratch.”

 

“He-man.”

 

“As if you wouldn’t say the same thing if it was you.”

 

“Yeah but I’m not a Roman. We’re tougher than you.” Esca smiled weakly. “I wouldn’t even feel that.”

 

Marcus tapped him smartly on the side of his head and knocked back two of the tablets.

 

“Watch your mouth,” he said.

 

“You like my mouth.”

 

Esca leaned in and kissed him, a light gentle kiss but as soon as their lips met Marcus wanted more. All the emotions of the day came flooding out of him and he knew Esca would be able to take everything he had to give him. Ignoring the pain, he stood up and grabbed for Esca. Mouths locked together, they stumbled out of the bathroom, pulling off clothes as they went.

 

Marcus felt out-of-control desperate but when they reached the bedroom, Esca began to slow things down, soothing him with clever hands and an even cleverer tongue.

 

“It’s ok,” he whispered against Marcus’ neck. “I’m going to take care of things.” He gently pulled Marcus onto the bed with him, manoeuvring him to lie on his front. “Just let me take care of things.” He ran his fingers over the bumps of Marcus’ spine until he reached the curve of his buttocks and Marcus pushed up into his touch, relieving some of the pressure on the throbbing swollen cock trapped between his body and the bed. Esca pressed his lips to the small of his back then kissed his way upwards, following the line of vertebrae until he reached Marcus’ neck. With one hand gently stroking over his buttocks, he threaded the fingers of his other hand through Marcus’ hair and bit down on his uninjured shoulder. Marcus squirmed and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper but he was past caring. He rolled carefully over onto his back and Esca straddled him, linking their fingers together, pushing down and rubbing against him, bringing waves of spine-tingling pleasure with every roll of his hips. Marcus freed his good arm from Esca’s grip and reached down to wrap it around both their cocks. They looked at each other, eyes fixed. Esca was breathing deeply, his lips parted, a flush starting to creep up his chest. He groaned and closed his eyes, placing both his hands against Marcus’s chest and bracing himself, gradually increasing his pace as he thrust up into Marcus’ hand.

 

“Look at me,” Marcus whispered. Slowly he reached up with his other hand, the pain in his shoulder fighting with a rapidly building orgasm for control of his senses. He stroked the side of Esca’s face, feeling the rasp of stubble on his chin. “Look at me,” he repeated, louder this time. 

 

Esca’s eyes flew open at the command, his forehead creased with the effort of holding back. He groaned loudly, his eyes closing again as he came all over Marcus’s hand. Marcus tightened his grip, pushing his hips up as the burst of slippery warmth made the friction of skin on skin almost unbearable for him. He forced his eyes to stay open until the very last moment, pinpricks of bright light sparkling at the edge of his vision, Esca’s hands covering his as they continued to rock together and then he was coming, the pulsing of his cock rippling through his whole body from head to toe.

 

Neither of them spoke as they rode out the last of the shockwaves together and got their breath back. Marcus shifted into a position that was reasonably comfortable for his shoulder, a pillow supporting it while Esca settled in next to him.

 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked eventually, after Marcus thought he was already asleep.

 

Marcus pulled him a little closer and took a deep breath. There was no way to put this off any longer. “I was on my way here after I texted you earlier. A few of the Seals were waiting for me, there was a fight, one of them died.” Esca tried to wriggle out of his arms but Marcus held on tight. “I didn’t kill him,” he continued anxiously, “not deliberately. He hit his head when I shoved him against a wall.”

 

Esca finally got free and sat up, staring down at him in disbelief. “Shit, Marcus!” he yelled. “Where did this happen? Are the police going to come looking for you?”

 

“I don’t know whether the Seals came back for him before he was found. The police might not even know.” 

 

Marcus struggled to try and sit up but Esca planted a hand firmly in the centre of his chest and shook his head. “You need to rest that shoulder.” He blew out an audible breath. “It’ll be fine,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Marcus. “It’s about time somebody took one of them out anyway.”

 

Marcus didn’t mention that the Romans had already done that and this was the second one to die. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he whispered. “I promise.”

 

“I know.”

 

“They’re pissed at me. I went to Guern’s afterwards and when I was leaving their leader was there. The one that died was his brother and he wants revenge.”

 

“What are you going to do?”

 

“I…..” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Esca that he was planning to run. Not yet anyway. “I don’t know.”

 

Esca lay down next to him and Marcus could make out his eyes glistening in the rapidly growing dark. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “Sort this fucking mess out tomorrow.”

 

It was still dark when Marcus woke. He reached out without thinking and his shoulder protested loudly enough to make him draw in a sharp breath and groan. He tried again, more carefully this time, and groped for the alarm clock, picking it up and squinting at the luminescent dial. 3.30am. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at Esca, sound asleep beside him, lying face down, one arm resting on the pillow above his head, the other dangling over the edge of the bed.

 

Settling back to stare up at the ceiling, Marcus thought about what Liathan had said. _You’ll pay for what you did. You took something from me and I’ll take something from you in payment._ What could he possibly take apart from his life? Marcus didn’t have anything; no family, nothing. He looked over at Esca again and felt cold. They couldn’t mean him. Not Esca. 

 

Marcus remembered the sense of being watched and Dergdian’s taunts about knowing their relationship but he pushed it all out of his mind as Esca rolled over in his sleep and nestled into his side, all bones and muscle but surprisingly soft and warm too. Gingerly, Marcus shifted so he could wrap an arm around Esca and hold him close. It felt good to hang onto something solid and real while the world threatened to spiral out of control around him but it was a long time before he fell asleep again, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that time was running out for him in every way possible.

 

 

“Marcus. Wake up.”

 

Marcus was roused from unsettling dreams by an insistent voice and the sight of Esca watching him. He rubbed at his stinging, gritty eyes before mumbling something incoherent that he hoped Esca understood as a good morning greeting.

 

“How’s the shoulder?”

 

A slow, slight movement proved that it was still painful. “Ok. Can hardly feel it.”

 

“Liar.” Esca shifted a little closer and kissed him. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Can I just spend all day in bed with you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Sure?”

 

“It’ll be ok.” Esca smiled at him then got out of the bed and rubbed his hands over his head, making his hair stick up in tufts before smoothing it down again. He stretched his arms, yawning loudly and looked almost ethereal, naked and wreathed in the sunlight slanting through the partially closed blinds. Marcus felt all kinds of emotion bubble up from deep inside him but he clamped his mouth shut and forced them back down.

 

Esca pulled on his clothes, zipping up his grey patterned hoodie. “I have to go,” he said. “It’s later than I thought and I’ve got things to do. I’ll call you later, ok?”

 

All Marcus could do was nod mutely until the bedroom door closed and he was alone. 

 

“I love you,” he whispered.

 

 

The whole way to the museum, Marcus kept both eyes peeled for potential danger but there was nothing. He knew it was coming though; he could feel it, as palpable as the pain in his shoulder. 

 

He wasn’t due at work but he wanted to tell his colleagues he wouldn’t be back and to clear out his locker, not that there was anything worthwhile in it. He sat in the staffroom for a while afterwards, trying to work out his next move. He couldn’t go to the lock-up; whatever he had to do, he had to do it without letting the lads know. Maybe he should just bite the bullet and go and find Esca, tell him he was leaving and try to persuade him to come too. Marcus took one last look around his favourite exhibits but there was no fun in being around things he wanted to look at while scanning every inch of the place for danger and so he left, jumping on a bus to avoid the intermittent bursts of rain. 

 

As the bus trundled on through the city, taking him up towards Brigantes territory, Marcus ran over what he would say to Esca in his head. He’d beg, make declarations of undying love, perform cartwheels, promise anything, whatever it took to change Esca’s mind about leaving with him. The bus slowed down and Marcus looked out the window to check out whoever was getting on but they weren’t stopping at a bus-stop. The traffic was backed up to a standstill and people were hurrying along the pavement, gathering in a crowd a little too far ahead for Marcus to see clearly. He asked the driver to let him off and followed the flow of people, catching sight of the top of an ambulance over the heads of the crowd in front, emergency lights still flashing. He pushed his way through the crowd and saw several police cars then spotted what had caused all the commotion. A body lay face down on the pavement, a thick pool of blood oozing out from under its head. Marcus took a step backwards, feeling as if his knees were about to buckle. His heart was thumping so hard he couldn’t catch his breath, a wave of nausea mixed with panic washing over him. He knew whose body it was. He recognised the coppery brown hair, the slender figure, the too-big grey hoodie with the swirly tribal pattern, the blue tattoo on the body’s exposed right arm where the hoodie had been dislodged during the attack. 

 

The paramedics were crouched by the body but they weren’t doing anything with the bags of equipment they’d brought with them. One of them looked up and shook her head sombrely at the policeman standing beside her. She said something but Marcus didn’t need to hear the words as the crowd were pushed back by the police.

 

The guy on the ground was dead. 

 

Esca was dead.

 

 

Marcus sat on the sofa in his flat, poured a large shot of the whisky he’d just bought into his glass and downed it in one. Then he poured another. Eventually he stopped pouring anything into the glass and just drank from the bottle until it was as empty as he was. Esca’s intense and vibrant presence was gone, leaving behind a huge hole that Marcus couldn’t imagine would ever be filled. He hadn’t realised just how empty his life had been. He rubbed his hands over his face and picked up the glass, letting out a howl of despair as he hurled it across the room to smash against the opposite wall. He raked his fingers through his hair and held his head in his hands, thinking about the things he’d done, all the people he’d hurt and intimidated in the name of the Romans. This was his punishment.

 

Hours passed and his phone kept buzzing but every time he looked at the caller display it was Drusillus or Placidus. Jesus, couldn’t they just leave him alone? It was never going to be the one name he wanted to see appear, not ever again. He continued to ignore the calls for a while and finally switched the phone off. Unsteady on his feet, he left the flat and climbed the stairs until he reached the top floor. He opened the door that led out onto the roof and walked over to sit on the edge, his legs dangling over the side, high above the street below. He hadn’t been up on the roof for ages but there was a time he’d gone up there a lot. It was a good place to think, so high up that he could look out over this part of the city and pick out buildings he knew, watch people on the ground like ants below him. On a good day he could even see the river winding its way through the mass of concrete towers.

 

Not today though, the sun long since blocked out by the bank of thick clouds that threatened even more rain. Marcus looked out over the city, still unable to believe that something which had started with such an exhilarating and deeply emotional connection had ended in such a mess so quickly. He’d spent so long struggling with his feelings, trying to understand why he felt the way he did about Esca and getting up the courage to do something about it and now he was adrift, walking on quicksand and sinking fast, losing his grip on whatever it was that had been keeping him safe and sane. What he’d had with Esca was good, better than good and it had been ripped out of his hands in the cruellest way. It didn’t seem real to him that Esca could be gone; that everything they’d hoped for and talked about was over. Marcus felt tears suddenly prick at the back of his eyes but he forced them away to be replaced by a surge of anger. He wanted to take on those bastard Seals single-handed, rip the sons of bitches apart with his bare hands, make them beg for mercy that he had no intention of giving. His head was such a jumble of emotions that he couldn’t think straight; maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just grief. What was he going to do now? Fight? Run? Jump off the roof and be done with it all?

 

It felt like time was standing still as he sat on the edge of the roof and let his mind try to make some sense of what was happening but when he looked around he noticed that the late afternoon light had turned to dusk. Street-lights, offices and homes were all lit up. At some point it had started raining again. By the time he left the roof and went back to his flat it was almost fully dark but Marcus had made his decision. He wasn’t a coward but he had to get away from here. It was time to go. He was done with this city and everything in it.

 

He packed a holdall with as much stuff as he could carry, took the pile of cash he’d stuffed under the mattress and pulled the door listlessly behind him, not stopping to make sure it had closed properly. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be coming back here again.

 

 

Marcus made no attempt to look out for trouble as he headed to the only person he intended to say goodbye to. He paid no attention to anyone else around him as he walked, shoulders slouched and head down, feeling rain start to trickle down the back of his neck. If the Seals got him now, it didn’t matter. 

 

“Marcus?”

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Sure.” Guern stood aside to let him in and shut the door, locking it as he always did now to ensure that he knew who was in his gym and when. Nobody ever questioned anything he did. Marcus pushed past him and went into the office, slumping down onto the nearest chair, suddenly exhausted. “I was worried about you,” Guern carried on, shaking his head sadly. “There’s more trouble brewing. Drusillus came by earlier, said the Seals have killed someone else. A Brigantes I think.”

 

“It was Esca.”

 

“What?”

 

“Esca,” he repeated, surprised at the lack of emotion in his voice. “It was Esca.”

 

“Oh Marcus,” Guern said quietly. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

 

“I’m leaving.” Marcus tossed his phone on the desk. “Won’t need this. If I make it out of here in one piece, I don’t want anyone finding me.”

 

“You’ll make it.”

 

“Sure of that, are you?”

 

“I’ll make sure of it if I have to, yes.” Guern picked up the discarded phone. “Aren’t you going to keep in touch?”

 

Marcus felt guilt start to crawl over him; guilt for all the people he was leaving behind without saying goodbye. He shook his head and watched Guern scribble his phone number onto a piece of paper which he then handed over.

 

“Take it,” he insisted, placing it in Marcus’ hand when he hesitated. “Think of it as an insurance policy. In case you ever need anything or maybe to just let me know you’re ok.”

 

“What if you change your number?”

 

Guern rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Always putting obstacles in the way,” he pointed out. “I’m going to miss you.”

 

“Look out for Drusillus for me. Tell him I’m sorry.”

 

“He’ll understand.”

 

“I’m not sure he will.”

 

“Here.” Guern opened a drawer in his desk and took out a bulky envelope which he handed to Marcus. Marcus frowned at it for a moment before taking it and opening it, cautiously peering inside. He shook his head and fought against the prickle of tears when he saw the contents. There must have been at least a couple of grand in there, probably more.

 

“I can’t take this,” he said.

 

“Yes you can.”

 

“You can’t give me money. You need this. You’ve got a wife and kids.”

 

“And I provide for them just fine. This was money set aside for a rainy day and that rainy day has arrived. A long time ago, I wanted out and your dad helped me. I wouldn’t have any of this,” Guern spread his arms out, “if it wasn’t for him. He stood up for me when others wanted to lynch me as a coward and a traitor; loaned me some money to start this place up.”

 

“Where the hell did he get that kind of money from?”

 

“That doesn’t really matter, not if it ended up being put to good use, which it did. I’m just paying back an old debt.”

 

Marcus stared at the envelope, pride and common sense fighting each other in his head. It was common sense that won in the end though and he stuffed the envelope in his bag, promising himself that he’d never do anything to make Guern regret the gesture. “I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, not quite able to meet Guern’s eyes, not when his own still threatened with the prickle of unshed tears.

 

“You don’t have to say anything, just get yourself a life somewhere.” Guern perched on the edge of his desk next to Marcus and squeezed a firm hand on his shoulder. His bad shoulder. Marcus drew in a deep breath and ignored the flash of pain. “I’m sorry about Esca. Anything you need Marcus. Anything. You know I’ll have your back.”

 

Marcus looked up at him and nodded, the pain having chased away any lingering threat of the humiliation of tears. They talked for a while until Marcus ran out of things to say and he began to wonder whether he wasn’t just putting off the inevitable. He needed to go soon or he’d have to wait until morning if he wanted to catch a train anywhere but then someone was banging on the front door and he wanted to fling the door open and scream at them to stop. He clenched his fists and tried to block out the noise so he could think straight but he couldn’t. Guern motioned for him to shut the office door and stay out of sight while he went to see who it was and Marcus considered just making a run for it out the back in case whoever wanted in was someone he didn’t want to see. He trusted Guern to know what to do though.

 

He waited, hearing muffled voices and then Guern was calling for him urgently. Confused, Marcus got up to see what was happening and stopped dead in his tracks when he recognised the soaked and shivering figure standing just inside the door. His first thought was that he was hallucinating. His second thought was that Esca looked pretty robust for a dead man.

 

Guern poked his head outside, quickly looking up and down the street before closing and locking the door behind him and ushering them both into the office. For a moment Marcus could do nothing but stare at Esca then he grabbed him and hugged him tightly, unsure whether to laugh or cry as he felt Esca’s arms slide around him in response.

 

“I thought you were dead.” Marcus broke the embrace and held Esca’s head between his hands, his eyes flitting over Esca’s face just to make doubly sure it really was him. “I saw the body and I thought it was you.”

 

“It was Struan.” Guern reappeared and handed Esca a towel and a dry t-shirt. He took them, wrapping the towel around his shoulders then he sat down, his head in his hands before looking up at Marcus. “When I left this morning, I headed back home and met him on the way. He’d come out looking for me cos I hadn’t come home last night and I forgot to tell him. It had started raining and he was out without a coat so I gave him mine and carried on home while he went off somewhere. They must’ve ambushed him.”

 

“Why didn’t you call me?”

 

“I left my phone in my jacket. I went out to meet up with the other Brigantes and that’s when I heard about him and things were going crazy. As soon as I had a chance, I went to your place but you’d gone.” He glanced up at Guern. “This was the only other place I could think of to come where they might know how to find you.”

 

A thought formed in Marcus’s mind. “They thought it was you,” he said.

 

“What?”

 

“The Seals. Struan and you were so alike and they saw that hoodie you always wear and they thought it was you. Liathan promised me he’d take something from me and he meant you. But they got the wrong guy.”

 

Esca flew up out of the chair. “He’s dead because of me?” 

 

“No. He’s dead because the Seals killed him and when they find out they got the wrong guy they’ll come after you again.” Marcus hoped he was making sense. “We need to leave.”

 

“No we don’t. It looks like there’s going to be a truce, the Romans and the Brigantes joining forces to get rid of the Seals. We can be on the same side. We can finish these fuckers off for good!”

 

“I don’t want to be part of this any more. We can get away. We can leave together, now!”

 

“I can’t leave,” Esca snapped. “I have to stay and get revenge for Struan.”

 

“Do you think that’s what he’d want?”                                      

 

“Yes!”

 

“Really?” Marcus asked. “He’d want you to pass up a chance to get out and build a life somewhere with someone who cares about you just so you can stay here and avenge him? If you do that, you’ll end up in hospital or jail or dead and someone, probably me, will take it on themselves to avenge you and it’ll just go round in a circle like its always done.”

 

“You just don’t get it. Where are we going to go, eh? What are we going to live on? Sex?” Guern coughed to remind them that he was still there but Esca ignored him. “Those bastards need to pay for what they did! He was just a kid!”

 

“They’ll pay for it, trust me.” Guern looked at Esca then Marcus. “I still know a few people who can….take care of things when things need to be taken care of.” He placed a hand on Esca’s shoulder and squeezed. “They’ll pay for it, one way or another. You have a chance to get yourselves out of this mess and build a life together but Marcus is right. If you stay, this will just spiral into another round of tit-for-tat revenge until there’s nobody left!”

 

“Come with me,” Marcus begged. “Please. We’ll leave right now.”

 

“And go where?” Esca sounded exhausted, all the fight gone out of him.

 

“It doesn’t matter. Somewhere. Anywhere.” Marcus tried desperately to come up with a plan that made sense. His head was spinning. “The Highlands, Spain. I don’t care as long as you’re there.”

 

“We’ve got nothing! No money, nothing! I don’t even have a change of clothes.”

 

“I’ve got some money. We can get a train, go to the airport….”

 

“I don’t have a passport,” Esca interrupted. “I never bothered. Where was I going to go?”

 

“I guess Spain is out of the question then. Train it is. We can get jobs wherever we end up. There’s always something.” Marcus could see by the confusion in his eyes that Esca was wavering. “Mechanics are always in demand somewhere.”

 

“So you’re expecting me to support you now?” The sudden change in direction made Marcus smile, even if it wasn’t said with Esca’s usual feisty defiance.

 

“I don’t mind staying at home and raising chickens.” 

 

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

 

“What if it does? It’s always a risk but it’s one I’m willing to take, with you.” Marcus placed a hand at either side of Esca’s head and tilted his face upwards so they were looking at each other, so close that he could feel Esca’s breath on his face. “Please. I can’t stay here. I want a life.” Hearing his voice start to crack, Marcus had to look away briefly to compose himself. “I thought I’d lost you once. Don’t make me lose you again.”

 

Esca held his gaze, worry and confusion in his eyes until after what seemed to Marcus like a lifetime they gave way to fresh determination. “Ok,” he said. “Let’s do it. Me and you.”

 

“Yeah?” Marcus could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You mean that?”

 

“Yeah.” Esca’s tentative smile broke into a huge grin that lit up his face and Marcus would have kissed him there and then if Guern hadn’t still been watching them.

 

 

They stood outside the ticket office at the railway station, both of them staring at the departures board, one bag of possessions between them and all of it belonging to Marcus. At least Guern had managed to dig out a sweater that someone had left at the gym for Esca to wear in addition to the t-shirt he’d given him. As usual, they were a couple of sizes too big for him. 

 

“So,” Esca said as he looked from one possible destination to another. He did his best to keep his voice steady but it betrayed him and he sounded as nervous and excited as Marcus felt himself. “Where to?”

 

Marcus slung an arm around his shoulder and smiled down at him. 

 

“You decide,” he said. “Just make sure it’s a long way from here.”

 

Esca looked up and smiled back.

 

THE END


End file.
